


Bones

by kaliawai512



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Handplates (Undertale), Angst, Basically the works, Cinnamon Roll Papyrus (Undertale), Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Unethical Experimentation, if you've read any of my handplates fics the tags should be obvious, not gonna mention anything else to avoid spoilers ;), zarla-s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 103,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaliawai512/pseuds/kaliawai512
Summary: It had been more than a year since he put away the machine. It was pointless, after all. He was never going to fix it. He was never going to find who he was looking for.But after Frisk pries into the plates on their hands, the thoughts won't leave him alone, and Sans decides to give the machine one more go. And despite all his expectations, it finally works.It just doesn't work the way he was expecting.(Handplates, Post-Pacifist.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... is there any point ever saying that this will be my last Handplates fanfic?
> 
> An idea similar to this has been bouncing around in my head for months now, so it eventually had to come out in some way or another. This was inspired by several of Zarla's posts in particular ([this](https://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/174065372182/babybones-fluff-gives-me-life-it-makes-me-so), [this](https://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/157508871433/hypothetically-speaking-how-would-sans-and), and [this](https://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/175624745806/i-doubt-ill-ever-add-this-as-a-mode-or-something)), but I recommend skipping the links until you've read the chapter, if you want to avoid spoilers. ;)
> 
> The "science" behind this is not meant to make sense, and it will not be explained. It's very "what-if" where I just wanted to explore the scenario and the characters' reaction to it. And as with all my fics where Gaster plays a significant part, I want to make it clear that nothing in this fanfic absolves Gaster of his tremendous crimes. No matter what happened in the past, or what else he does, or how he feels, he still tortured two innocent children. In my opinion, that's not something you can come back from.
> 
> However, I am, as always, _fascinated_ by Gaster's development as a character, and just because Gaster is guilty as an abuser toward Sans and Papyrus, doesn't mean he's guilty in all situations of his life, especially in his past. To me, that's one of the big messages of Handplates: that people aren't just the victims or just the perpetrators. They can be the perpetrator in one situation and the victim in another, as Gaster is in many situations. It also illustrates how one bad choice can spiral on to make the victims make their own bad choices (ie: though Gaster is still responsible for his choice to create the brothers, the brothers wouldn't have been created if not for the humans committing near-genocide against monsters).
> 
> This will almost certainly be partially, if not completely, disproved by Handplates canon, possibly as early as the next comic, with how things are going. The whole basis behind is centered around a theory I've had since Gaster's fall - that at some point before Frisk's arrival, Sans finds Papyrus's drawing in the lab, is convinced that his at-least-somewhat loving father was lost to the Void in some tragic accident, and tries to repair a machine he finds in the shed that he thinks might bring his lost father back - but that may turn out to be completely false. I've accepted that. I hope you all enjoy it regardless, even if you happen to be reading this in the future when it's very much disproved!
> 
> For once, this story will have no set update schedule - my life is crazy busy right now, so I'll just be posting as I finish the chapters. Oh, and this first scene follows the [very first comic in Handplates](https://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/133964742251/ive-seen-a-few-things-where-sans-and-papyrus-were), just in case anyone's forgotten that this whole series started with flashback scenes. ;)
> 
> As always, thanks, everyone, and a big thank you to Zarla, whose incredible work continues to inspire me to create (and who is the sole owner of Handplates).

It took Sans thirty seconds of pulling at the door of the shed before he decided it had frozen shut and took a shortcut inside.

The lights were off, and the shed was pitch-black, but he found the light switch almost immediately. The lightbulb buzzed and flickered, and for a second he thought it might not turn on, but finally it went quiet and the room was flooded with a bright yellow glow.

It probably wouldn’t last long. The Core had been shut off almost a year ago now, and most of the power reserves had been used up by the last few monsters who took their time to move to the surface. If he came back down again, in a week or two, he doubted the light would turn on at all.

Maybe coming down here now hadn’t been such a stupid decision after all.

He glanced from side to side several times, taking in the familiar room, before his eyes fell on the shape by the wall, covered by a sheet and a thin layer of dust. His eyelights went out.

No. It had _definitely_ been a stupid decision.

He had known that before. He had known that from the moment it first popped into his head, while Papyrus and the kid were chattering away about what to put in his latest batch of spaghetti, after the topic of their handplates had finally been dismissed. He had smiled for them, the smile that almost everyone believed, but as the glow in his eye faded, his mind had drifted off without his permission.

And he found himself thinking about things he had stuffed into dark corners of his head a long time ago.

As little respect as they had for other people’s privacy, Frisk had accepted their dismissal without any fuss. They were a good kid, deep down. They didn’t want to hurt anyone.

They were just … unbearably curious sometimes.

It was going to get them into trouble someday.

He was pretty sure it already had.

But they had let it go. They hadn’t tried to peek at their hands—and Sans had been especially careful about hiding his own in the week since. He caught them staring a little more often than usual, their mouth pressed into a tight, frustrated line, like they thought they could figure out the mystery of the brothers just by looking long enough.

Tough luck, kid. That was a mystery to them, too, and they had been trying a hell of a lot longer.

But Frisk didn’t need to bring the issue up again to keep him thinking about it. It felt like it was alive, wriggling around in his skull, angry that it had been ignored for so long and refusing to go back to sleep. Ignoring his arguments that it was useless. That he had tried for months and gotten nowhere. That they had everything they had ever wanted anyway, so what was the point reaching for something else?

It was worse than the kid, honestly.

He had spent all week fighting it, throwing more and more ridiculous arguments at it to try to shut it up, but he knew by the third day that it was useless. By the fourth day, he was at the hardware store, ignoring the odd looks from the employees and other customers while he tried to find the cheapest shed that would, by his long-memorized measurements, be big enough for his needs.

On the fifth day, he was doing his best to explain to Toriel why there was a shed in the backyard, right where she was going to plant a new vegetable garden.

For two days after that, he kept the receipt for the shed in his pocket, just in case he changed his mind. Just in case he finally realized how stupid he was for getting back into this. Just in case that voice in his head finally shut up.

It didn’t.

And on the seventh day, he was taking the bus up to the mountain and shortcutting his way to the top, blipping around the Underground until he found himself in front of his old abandoned house.

The receipt still crinkled in the pocket of his hoodie, but he knew he would throw it away as soon as he got home.

Now he just needed to … get home.

After a long pause, he walked up to the machine and tugged on the sheet, once, twice, before it finally gave and slipped off, landing in a pile on the floor. And there it was, standing in front of him, just as he had left it. Rusted, partially broken, and obviously unfinished.

And a good deal bigger than his faulty memory had assumed.

He had taken things with him through shortcuts before, of course. He had taken _people_ with him, humans and monsters. But he had never transported something this large, and definitely never this far.

He … should probably be more worried about that than he was.

Maybe he was just tired of everyone he knew thinking he couldn’t do things just because he was … well. Weak. He didn’t really mind it from Papyrus, but that was probably because Papyrus had been doing it for as long as Sans could remember, and he knew—somehow—that it was for a good reason. Everyone else … had just learned that he had 1 HP and immediately began treating him like he would shatter if they gave him a high-five.

If _Undyne_ gave him a high-five, yeah, maybe, but from just about anyone else, he was fine.

Maybe he was too focused on the outcome to care what risks he was taking to get there. That was … stupid, and he knew it, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. That voice in his head had only gotten louder by the day, and he knew it wasn’t going to shut up until he did something about it.

Even if this turned out to be useless.

Even if he failed again.

Even if … it didn’t give him what he was hoping for.

At least he could tell himself he tried.

He knew that wasn’t good enough. But it was all he had. He would just have to make do.

He took one more look at the machine, running his hand over the surface of it and trying to remember how many hours he had spent working on it. How many times he had broken down next to it in pure desperation. How many times he had thought he was _so close,_ he was _almost there_ and then … then he heard snapping metal or smoke started leaking through the cracks, and he was back to square one.

That could all happen again. That probably _would_ happen again.

But if, by some crazy chance, it actually _worked_ …

If it actually brought back the person he had been reaching for …

Sans’s hand stopped, resting on the metal wall. He gritted his teeth and shifted it to a corner, gripping it as tightly as thin bony fingers could grip a smooth hunk of metal.

He couldn’t hold onto it properly, but he had brought the kid through shortcuts without touching them, just by wanting to bring them along.

It would work.

It had to.

Sans took a breath and let it out as slow as he could, holding an image of the new shed in his mind.

Then he closed his eyes and disappeared.

*

If explaining why he had randomly bought a shed and put it in the backyard, without giving a reason why, had been difficult, then explaining why he stumbled in the back door and passed out on the kitchen floor was about five times harder.

Still. Toriel’s need to care for everyone around her was stronger than her need for explanations, and he found that simply claiming that geez, his head was still killing him, was enough to make her sigh in frustrated acceptance and heal him some more instead of pestering him for answers.

He hadn’t really _needed_ healing, technically. He wasn’t actually hurt. He was just … well, he would have said “exhausted,” but even regular exhaustion didn’t feel like he had felt after that shortcut. He was tired, yeah. But he also felt _wrong._ Like his shortcuts had felt when he first started taking them, before they became normal. Like he had just broken a law of physics, and physics was mad at him, but didn’t have a way of actually stopping him from doing it again.

That … didn’t make much sense, even in his own head, but then again, neither did the shortcuts, so he decided to just accept it.

The feeling passed within a couple of days, at any rate, and as soon as he could stand to walk across the yard, he was in the shed, rolling up his sleeves, pulling out his tools, and getting back to work.

That eagerness lasted about as long as it took for him to accidentally break something.

Which was approximately seven minutes.

He spent two hours in there the first time, and the next day, when he finally had some time away from his brother and the rest of his housemates, it took all his willpower to drag himself to the shed. The day after that, it was even harder.

He had forgotten how frustrating it was, working so hard on something that seemed so determined to stay broken. Working on something with only a messy set of blueprints that he was almost certain had never been completed. Blueprints based on research, based on _knowledge_ , that he just didn’t have.

For the first couple of weeks, with every day that passed, he was convinced that all this effort had been for nothing.

Then, one night at dinner, Alphys was going on and on about all the amazing things about the surface. All the great things humans had created that were still new to them.

That was nothing new. But this time, Alphys’s excitement hadn’t been sparked from finding a copy of a rare manga in the back of a used bookstore.

It was finding a part for a new gadget she was building.

A part that would have been ridiculously hard, if not impossible, to find in the dump.

A part that had apparently been available, for relatively cheap, on a human website called “eBay.”

Sans hadn’t thought much of it that night, or the next day, or the next. But the day after that, he found himself staring at a part of the blueprints and the corresponding area of the machine, and wondering how the hell he was going to find the very specific coil that was meant to go there.

And then he remembered.

He still didn’t hold out that much hope for it, but he looked it up anyway, pulling up the site on his laptop and running a search for the name of the required part.

And there it was.

Five of them, right in front of his eyes.

No hunting. No searching. No cleaning off the water and gunk and rust.

Exactly what he needed, for a range of prices, for bidding or for immediate purchase. With free shipping, to boot.

Sometimes, he really did love the surface.

He ordered five more items over the next few months, getting quite good at bidding while he was at it. He had to get up at two in the morning a few times to put in his bid at the last second, but it always got him the item, and usually at a good price—which was probably the only thing that kept him from drawing suspicion when Tori went over their finances. Bank accounts weren’t easy to come by for monsters, and when she got one, they all shared it, passing the debit card back and forth when one of them needed to go shopping. Tori had given each of them a designated “allowance” for each month, and Sans just barely stayed within his own.

He would have been willing to give up his usual “fun” spending entirely, but when Papyrus realized on “movie Saturday” that Sans was essentially broke, he just sighed and pulled some more money out of his own pocket.

Sans promised, if only to himself, that he would pay him back later.

When he wasn’t being dragged into family activities or working one of his three jobs—or passed out on his bed—he worked on the machine. He borrowed books from the library on modern engineering. He brushed up on physics concepts that had grown rusty in his head. And every time some old, broken part fell off the machine, he replaced it with no more than a sigh.

He worked harder than he had ever worked in his life, pushing through exhaustion and boredom and overwhelming frustration.

And finally, just over three months later, he found himself standing in the shed, wrench in hand, staring at machine that had been the bane of his existence since the day he found it, unfinished, behind their house.

… it was done.

Or at least … it _looked_ done. It had looked done before, until he had started it up, but … as he looked at it now, something felt different. He didn’t know what. He didn’t know where the feeling came from. He had no reason to trust it. But there it was.

And there was the machine.

Sitting there. Intact.

Ready to be turned on.

He swallowed hard, then swallowed again, even though there was nothing in his mouth. He knelt down and checked every part of the machine, checked it again, and again after that. Everything was in place. Every bolt tightened. Every hinge oiled. Everything exactly as the blueprints, and his own research, had said.

He just had to turn it on.

He tried to lift his hand from his side, to bring it to the switch he had flipped three—or was it four?—times already. That was all he had to do. He just had to flip that switch, and then …

Well, the machine could break again, like it had those three—no, it was definitely four—times already.

But it might not.

It could work. It could turn on, buzz to life, and not shut down from a random malfunction that took him weeks to track down.

It would do exactly what it was supposed to do.

Or at least … what he thought it would do.

He couldn’t be sure. He knew that. He had never been sure about any of this, from the very beginning. It had always just been theory. Guesswork. Hope that the hints he found were pointing at what he wanted to know rather than something completely irrelevant.

The machine might work. It might run just like it was supposed to run.

And it might not do what he wanted.

It might not do what he had been trying to achieve for … he didn’t know how long.

He and Papyrus would be left without any more answers about where they came from, _who_ they came from.

And the machine might end up screwing everything up in some way he hadn’t even considered.

He had known it would do something … drastic. It had to, if it had any chance of bringing someone back from … a place where no one should be able to go in the first place. And any machine capable of that kind of feat was also capable of making things ten times worse than before.

He had no way of testing it. No way of making sure it was safe.

Once he flipped the switch, that was it.

Whatever happened was on him.

For better or for worse.

His hand twitched again, and he lifted it, bit by bit, into the air. Only a few inches away from the switch, he paused, fingers trembling.

Then his arm fell back to his side.

He … he could do it later.

He could start it up later.

In a few days. Or a few weeks. Or … or maybe longer.

The machine wasn’t going anywhere. If it was fixed … then it was fixed. It would still work whenever he decided to turn it on.

And if it wasn’t … then there was no harm in waiting to find out.

Everything was fine right now. There was no rush. Or … well, maybe there was. But if there was someone waiting for them, then he had been waiting a long time already. He could … wait a little longer. Probably.

It was a flimsy answer, even in Sans’s head, but he stuck to it. It was all he had.

He put away his tools and used a rag to clean off the machine and the floor, as best he could—definitely better than he usually bothered. He tucked the blueprints away in one of the drawers and, after a moment’s hesitation, put the dusty old sheet in a corner. If he didn’t start the machine up in a few days, he would put it back on then.

He gave the machine one last, long look, and imagined it was staring back at him. It looked … patient, as much as a machine could. It had waited a long time for him, and it would wait as long as he needed.

Soon. He would be ready soon.

But for now …

He had a whole life to get back to.

He swallowed hard, nodded to himself, and stepped out of the shed, locking it behind him, before he strolled back to the house.

*

Sans was not a light sleeper.

Everyone he had ever spent at least five minutes around knew that—and even some people he had never met. Everyone had seen him drift off at the strangest times, in the loudest places. Everyone had seen him remain limp, snoring away, when Papyrus arrived in a huff and carried him off.

Well, at least that was what people told him. He wouldn’t know. He was asleep.

It was easy to believe, though. With how much he slept—and that occasional nasty habit of passing out for two days straight—and how few things disturbed him, it made sense that he could sleep through just about anything. And even after six months of sharing a house with two naturally loud people, a scientist who liked to watch anime at three AM, an early bird old lady, and a kid, nothing short of a screaming match right next to his head had ever woken him from a nap.

So when he woke up, blinking and confused, at—he checked the clock on his nightstand—3:12AM, he was … more than a little thrown for a loop.

He didn’t hear anything. The lights in his room were still off, and there was no rain outside—not that the rain had ever woken him up, but he knew most of his housemates found it impossible to sleep through. There were no weird smells. And though he searched his memory for any hint of his dreams, he found nothing. If a nightmare had been bad enough to wake him up, he would remember it.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up without a clear reason. He had slept for days before, when he had the chance, and sometimes even when he didn’t. And he definitely wouldn’t have woken up on his own after only four hours of sleep.

Fighting against his own exhaustion, he forced himself to sit up in bed and flick on his lamp. He rubbed one of his sockets, yawning and looking from side to side. His room was the same as it had been when he fell asleep. Nothing on fire. Nothing smoking. Nothing making noise when it shouldn’t be. Nothing—

Sans’s eyes landed on the drawer next to his bed, and he stopped, frozen.

The drawer was open.

And it was empty.

He … no, he had definitely—

Sans stuffed his hand into his hoodie pocket, searching for the key. Nothing. He searched the other pocket, then the pockets in his shorts, then he picked up his slippers from beside the bed and shook them out, waiting for the key to tumble onto the floor.

They were empty.

He had put the key away before he went to bed, just like he always did. He had put it in the drawer, closed it, and gone to sleep.

No one knew where he kept that key. Sure, everyone probably knew there _was_ a key, given that the shed had a big fat padlock on it, but he had never let anyone see him with the key. Never. Not Toriel. Not his brother. No one.

But …

There had been a key to the first shed. The one in the Underground. And … and someone had seen _that_ key. They had seen where he had hidden it. They had seen what was inside the shed that it opened.

And they had always been way too curious for their own good.

By the time Sans realized he had gotten off the bed, he was already running downstairs, faster than he had known he could move.

His breath came in sharp huffs as he ran through the first floor, pushing past the—unlocked—back door and scrambling into the yard. He stumbled once on the grass, but caught himself, his good eye flashing when his fingers finally grabbed the handle of the shed.

Honestly, he already knew what he was going to find when he yanked open the door.

That didn’t stop his eyelights from going to dark when he saw it.

When he saw _them_.

The kid.

With their hand on the switch.

The switch of the machine, that was now whirring to life.

“ _frisk._ ”

The word rushed out of him like a gust of wind, but it didn’t matter that it was too quiet to hear over the growing mechanical thrum. Frisk was already turning to face him, their eyes wide, their body frozen in something like fear.

A tiny voice, different from the first, reminded him that it had been more than a year since he scared them in the restaurant, and that fear had yet to completely go away.

But that voice was silenced a second later, when he felt himself shortcut across the room, grabbing Frisk and yanking them away from the machine just as it began to shake.

He didn’t know what had warned him. After all this time, he had stopped trying to find out. After the first time he had only narrowly avoided getting hit in the head with a flying metal plate, he had decided it didn’t matter.

And now, as he watched the shaking get harder, the whirring louder, and the metal begin to creak and steam, all he could think about was getting himself and Frisk as far away as possible.

But the universe had never granted him quite that much mercy.

The machine jolted and rumbled, like something was being tossed around inside, and Sans barely had enough time to pull Frisk down to the floor, pressing them both into the dirty wood, before it blew.

Metal shards slammed into the walls around them, and even with his sockets squeezed shut, Sans could feel the hot smoke rushing over them, flooding the room in seconds. Frisk whimpered, and Sans held them tighter, begging some nameless entity that none of the shards would hit them. He had promised Tori he would protect her kid, promised her again once they reached the surface, but frankly, Frisk could probably get hit with a hell of a lot more than he could without turning to dust.

More metal flew. Parts hit the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Sans curled tighter around Frisk and felt their tiny fingers squeezing his bones until they threatened to snap.

Then the rumbling faded, bit by bit, the machine powering down as too many parts flew off. The smoke was thicker now, so thick Sans could barely see a thing when he finally lifted his head and opened his eyes. Frisk made another whining sound, and Sans muttered for them to stay down, keep their eyes closed, as he sat up more fully.

He couldn’t see much yet, but he didn’t need to. He couldn’t see how much of the machine was shot, how many parts were broken, how much would need to be replaced.

It didn’t matter.

It hadn’t worked.

And it had almost killed both him and the kid.

Sans wanted to curse himself, wanted to tell himself exactly how stupid he was in every conceivable way until he ran out of words and had to consult a thesaurus. But he was too tired. He had spent months working on this machine. Months where all his free time was absorbed in this single task. And he had failed. _Again._ He had been an idiot. He had believed in something that was hopeless from the beginning. And now he was exactly where he had started.

Plus one traumatized kid, and what was soon to be a very angry friend.

Sans let out a long, heavy breath, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself before opening them again, ready to apologize, to assess the damage, get Frisk out of here, and try to make sure Tori wouldn’t kill him.

Then he stopped, the words right behind his teeth.

And he turned his head, slowly, facing the spot where the outline of the machine still stood.

Someone was coughing.

Someone who definitely wasn’t him, or even Frisk, who he could still feel, warm and alive in his hold.

And … it didn’t sound like Frisk coughed. Or Alphys, or Undyne, or even Toriel.

It was like … Sans coughed. Like Papyrus coughed.

And they didn’t cough like other monsters coughed.

They didn’t need to. They didn’t have lungs. They didn’t need to breathe. They couldn’t choke, at least not in the same way. So there was no need to get something out of their throat that might be blocking the passage of air.

But they still coughed, because they still took air into their bodies, and breathing in dirty air was … uncomfortable. Not deadly. Not painful. Just … really unpleasant.

And even as the smoke began to clear, the coughing continued.

So Sans’s eyes were already locked on that spot, only a few meters away, when the smoke finally thinned enough for him to see what was there.

For him to see _who_ was there.

The figure was small, only about Frisk’s height, and if not for the coughing, Sans almost could have mistaken them for a human. But then he made out the top of their head. Whiter, and smoother, than the skin of any human he had ever seen.

The rest of the body was covered in dark gray cloth. In a long-sleeved gray shirt and pants that hung off the tiny figure like the clothes left in the Snowdin house had hung off Sans, before he cut off the extra fabric. Like Frisk when they tried on one of Toriel’s robes.

The figure coughed again and cleared their throat.

“I …”

Sans stiffened.

The voice was new. It was young, high-pitched, and slightly masculine, and he was sure he had never heard it before in his life.

But the _word_ …

The smoke cleared further, and Sans finally made out the skeleton standing there, in oversized clothes, with one eye squeezed shut, two deep cracks running down either side of his face, and gaping holes through the solid bone of his hands.

Their eyes locked. The skeleton’s good eye widened, and Sans’s own sockets followed suit.

Another cough.

The skeleton—the _kid_ —wrapped his arms around himself, like Papyrus when he was trying to give himself a hug.

“Where … where am I?”

The words painted themselves in the air next to the kid’s head, the font sharp and clear, and finally, the pieces clicked.

It was … their language.

His and his brother’s language. The one they had set aside after Asgore found them. The one they still used in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of them, and they wanted something more familiar than anything they could remember.

The one Sans had finally looked up in Asgore’s book on skeletons, long after he had mastered reading, only a week or two before they set off on their own.

It was Wingdings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much, everyone!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the first installment. :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy the second ...

The shed was smoking.

That was the first thought that went through Papyrus’s head as he opened the back door and stared across the yard to the little wooden structure by the fence, right at the edge of Toriel’s garden. It was such a ridiculous thought that it took a few seconds to settle in, and by the time it did, his feet were already moving, carrying him across the grass as fast as they could.

By the time the second thought came— _this is where Sans sneaks off to all the time_ —he was already pulling open the door.

Thick, dark air rushed out at him and made him cough as he tried not to breathe it in. He waved his hand in front of him, knocking some of it aside, though it didn’t do much good. He took a step in anyway, blinking and turning his head, searching for the anything that moved.

Then he looked down.

And found two small shapes curled on the ground, only a few feet away, one of them blinking up at him while the other stared ahead.

Papyrus’s brow rose.

“BROTHER? FRISK? WHAT ARE YOU …”

But as he followed Sans’s gaze, his voice died in his throat, and as hard as he tried to pull it back up, it refused.

Because … there was a skeleton.

Another skeleton. A skeleton who wasn’t him or his brother.

A _little_ skeleton, no bigger than Frisk.

Standing maybe ten feet in front of him, arms wrapped around his little body, watching them with one wide eye.

Papyrus couldn’t remember exactly when he had learned that he and Sans were the only skeletons left. It was one of those things that he just sort of … _knew._ Asgore had told them, of course, at some point, but it hadn’t been a shock. It hadn’t been as overwhelming as others seemed to think it was.

Even if it had always made him a little sad.

Even if … he had always had the feeling that something very important was missing.

Even if he felt somehow … empty, like there was a gaping hole inside of him, and he didn’t know what was supposed to fill it.

It hadn’t been overwhelming to learn that there were no other skeletons.

But seeing one now, standing in front of him, as alive and real as his brother and him …

For a second, just a second, he thought he might actually pass out.

Then he steadied himself, straightened up as tall as he could, and curled his mouth into a smile.

It came much more easily than he would have thought.

“UM … HELLO?” he said, trying to remember all the things Lady As—Toriel had taught him about not scaring human children when he introduced himself. This little skeleton might not be human, but he was still a child, so Papyrus thought the same rules applied. “MY NAME IS PAPYRUS. WHAT IS YOURS?”

The child blinked. He looked at Sans, then at Frisk—and Papyrus was sure he didn’t imagine the flinch. Finally, his eyes landed on Papyrus again, and he swallowed so hard the sound carried across the room.

“I’m … I …”

He trailed off then, but Papyrus had already seen his words, as short and quiet as they might have been.

He had already seen the font.

The same font that appeared next to his brother every time they spoke their old language.

The language that he was sure he had never heard anyone else speak.

He felt another set of eyes on him, and looked down, meeting his brother’s eyes. Sans looked even smaller now, curled on the floor with Frisk at his side. There was something wild, desperate, and almost pained in his eyes, more raw than anything Papyrus had seen on his face in … he didn’t even know how long.

Papyrus’s eyes flicked toward the child again, then behind him, to the smoking machine.

This shed was his brother’s. He had bought it and set it up in the backyard. Gone into it almost every day.

Papyrus didn’t need to ask to know he had put the machine here.

But the child ...

“SANS … WHAT DID YOU DO?” Papyrus breathed, as close to a whisper as his voice could get. He looked back to the child, who had startled rattling, hugging himself tighter than before. “HOW DID YOU …?”

He tried to finish, he really _really_ tried, but the words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask. All he knew was that he needed an answer, and he had a very strong feeling that Sans wasn’t going to give it.

Sans stared up at him for a few seconds longer, then dropped his gaze to the floor, his smile twisting into something closer to a wince.

“bro, i …”

“My child?”

Papyrus jerked around just in time to see Toriel step through the open door of the shed, her eyes locked on Frisk even as she waved one arm in front of her, trying to clear out the smoke. She scanned Frisk’s tiny body on the floor, checking that they were uninjured, before she turned to Sans.

“What in the world is going on in—”

Then she lifted her head, following Sans’s gaze across the room.

Papyrus wondered if the child a special ability to take away people’s voices, because as Toriel faced him, the words he was sure were right on her lips seemed to drop away, leaving her wide-eyed and silent.

Her shoulders dropped, and her lips parted, the line of her brow rising as high as he had ever seen it.

“Oh my …”

The rattling paused, and Papyrus turned toward the child again. His good eye was bright now, his body tense, and he seemed … relieved? But somehow even more nervous? Papyrus hadn’t known someone could look both comfortable and incredibly tense at the same time.

“Queen Toriel?” he asked, and yes, his font was still the same as before. The same as Papyrus recognized from every private exchange he and his brother shared. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he couldn’t figure out what to say. His arms around his torso tightened further. “Where … where is this? How did I … what is …”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he was trying to finish, but his voice wouldn’t work. He finally let his teeth clack together, his eye locked on Toriel, wide and desperate.

Toriel’s own lips parted, and she paused before shaking her head, looking more pained than Papyrus had seen her in a while.

“I’m … I’m sorry, my dear, I … I cannot understand you.”

The child blinked. Then a faint blush grew on his cheekbones, and he lifted his hands, sheepish.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice a little clearer, moving his hands along with his words. “Where am I? What am I doing here? I don’t … I don’t remember …”

He shook harder now, so hard that the sound of his bones rattling filled the room. He looked so small in his oversized clothes, even smaller than he really was—which, from what Papyrus could see, was already very small. He looked back and forth between everyone in the room, as if they might give him the answers he was looking for.

As if they weren’t just as confused as he was.

It was Toriel who finally broke the silence, taking a step forward and holding out her arms, like she did when Frisk had a bad day and came home upset.

“There … it’s alright. Everything is going to be fine,” she said, stopping a few feet away from him. Unlike Frisk, he didn’t step forward into her arms, and just stared at her with that one wide eye, like he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Toriel’s shoulders slumped, but she kept smiling as she lowered her arms to her side. “How about you come inside and I’ll get you something warm to drink? Then we can talk and figure out what happened.”

The child didn’t say anything, but when Toriel beckoned him forward, he moved without complaint. He almost tripped over the long legs of his pants, but quickly steadied himself and followed at her side, hugging himself as he walked. As Toriel approached the door, Frisk fell in at her other side, flashing the other child a smile, but not trying to get him to speak.

Sans pushed himself up off the ground, standing on wobbly legs. He gave Toriel a soft, almost pleading look, the look he wore when he was expecting to be told off for something.

“tori …”

“We can discuss this later, Sans,” Toriel said, in the voice she used when the conversation was over.

Sans said nothing else.

Papyrus gave his brother a soft pat on the shoulder as they both followed Toriel out of the shed. The skeleton child turned his head from side to side, staring at the backyard like a brand new world. Toriel kept her eyes forward, but Frisk watched him with the same bright curiosity they watched everything with.

The night outside seemed almost shockingly peaceful. Some of the smoke had wafted into the air, but the sky was clear and quiet, dotted with tiny white stars and not a single cloud. Papyrus tilted his head up to look at it, smiling. It didn’t matter how long he spent on the surface. He didn’t think that it would ever stop amazing him.

He looked down at the sound of the back door flying open, hard enough to slam into the outside wall. He wasn’t surprised to see Undyne stalking out into the yard, a tired scowl on her face, her hair hanging wildly over her face and her pajamas crumpled.

“Hey, what the hell is …”

Undyne stopped, mouth still hanging open, as her eyes fell on the child on Toriel’s left. Even from behind, Papyrus could see the child shrink. But Toriel kept moving forward, slipping past Undyne, through the back door and into the house.

“Uh …” Undyne turned her head, staring into the house before turning to Papyrus and giving him an odd look. “Did you or Sans have a kid without telling us?”

Sans, of course, didn’t say anything, his eyes still locked on the ground, and Undyne seemed to know not to expect an answer from him. Papyrus sighed, looked through the open doorway, then met Undyne’s eyes and shook his head.

“I … I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE CAME FROM. HE … I FOUND HIM IN THE SHED WITH SANS. HE DOESN’T SEEM TO KNOW HOW HE GOT HERE.”

Sans shrunk a little more, still staring down. He didn’t quite look ashamed, but maybe embarrassed? Or maybe he was just thinking, and really wanted to be alone to do so, even though Papyrus doubted any of them would be going to bed anytime soon.

Undyne glanced at Sans again, frowning.

“Huh,” she muttered. She looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t think there were any other skeletons.”

Papyrus knew she was talking to herself and not him. He knew she didn’t ask about stuff like that. Still, he made a soft humming noise in the back of his throat.

“NEITHER DID I.”

Undyne turned back to him and paused again. Her lips pressed together, her brow furrowed, and he couldn’t decide whether she looked more confused or concerned. Either way, it was gone a few seconds later, and she huffed out a long, tired sigh.

“Well, I’d better go tell Alphys nothing exploded.” She started to turn toward the house, then stopped. “Nothing exploded, right?”

“I BELIEVE SOMETHING MAY HAVE.”

Undyne blinked, expression unchanged. “Well, guess I’ll go tell her that, then.”

And with that, she was gone, back into the house, leaving Papyrus and Sans to follow her.

Toriel had apparently already put some milk on the stove to heat up, and was currently gathering the ingredients Papyrus recognized for hot chocolate. Frisk put some snacks from the pantry on a large plate, and the child sat at the table, his hands in his lap, his head down, like he was afraid of taking up too much space.

He was still shaking, but it was soft enough now that his bones didn’t rattle. He reached up every few seconds to adjust his glasses, large and thin, which Papyrus only now noticed were taped to the sides of his head.

That … looked familiar, somehow. Maybe he had seen another monster with no ears who wore glasses? He couldn’t remember.

It had been a while since he had thought about the things he couldn’t remember.

Well. Other than the plates, but he wasn’t going to think about those right now.

Papyrus looked at the child for a few seconds longer before walking into the kitchen, toward the stove, where Toriel stood stirring the milk. He glanced over his shoulder and found the child staring back. He flinched and looked down again a second later, like he had been caught doing something wrong. Papyrus didn’t know what was wrong with looking at someone, especially when they were also looking at you, but …

He shook the thoughts away and took the last few steps to stand next to the counter.

“LADY TORIEL?”

Toriel jumped, just a little, then turned to face him. She looked … anxious. Frazzled, as Sans had once called it. It was a strange look on her. She worried a lot, especially about Frisk. But even in her worst moments of worry, she always looked so calm.

A few seconds passed, and she smoothed over her expression a little, giving him a gentle, questioning smile. Papyrus hesitated, then glanced at the child, still sitting at the table, head down.

“DO YOU … KNOW HIM?”

He tried to be quiet, but he still wasn’t sure whether the child had heard them. He didn’t move, or even flinch, so Papyrus decided it was safe to keep going.

He looked back to Toriel just as she looked away, staring at the pot of milk and giving it a soft, idle stir.

“I … I don’t …” She grit her teeth, frustrated, and let out a quiet sigh. “I … am not sure. He is … familiar, but … I don’t remember meeting him. And all the other skeletons …”

She looked at Papyrus again, and something in her eyes shimmered with pain. Papyrus had never been sure what to make of that pain. It was funny, because she wasn’t a skeleton, and she didn’t know what it felt like to be one of only two skeletons left. But she had also known a lot of skeletons, and she remembered them, and so she actually had someone to miss.

Finally, she shook her head, and Papyrus pushed his thoughts aside.

“I don’t know where he came from, Papyrus,” she said, grabbing the cocoa and scooping some in without even bothering to measure. She was good like that. He hoped he would be able to cook without measuring someday.

Papyrus frowned. “BUT HE KNOWS YOU.”

Toriel hesitated. She started to bite her lip, then stopped, as if she felt like biting her lip was too young for someone as old as she was.

“It … it is possible he knows _of_ me, but … doesn’t know me personally,” she replied, mixing in the other ingredients without meeting his eyes. “Many did, in my days as queen, and I suppose it’s the same now that I am … back in the public eye.”

But just as she finished saying it, her brow furrowed again, like there was something not quite right about it. Papyrus could feel the wrongness, too, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was going to ask Toriel, but before he could, she pulled the saucepan off the stove, setting it on the cooling rack while she went to the cupboard to grab some mugs.

In a funny way, he was relieved. He didn’t know how he would have answered if she asked whether _he_ knew the child.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He would have remembered meeting another skeleton, right?

Even if he forgot his own parents.

And his life before Asgore found them.

And … so many other things that felt very, very important.

If he had seen this child before, he would know, wouldn’t he?

… wouldn’t he?

Undyne and Alphys came downstairs just as Toriel started pouring the hot chocolate. She had made extra, apparently, so when they came into the kitchen, she just pulled out two more mugs and filled those up as well. Undyne took hers with a muttered “thanks” and downed half of it with one gulp, but Alphys didn’t even seem to notice the mug being held out in her direction. Her eyes were locked on the child, who had looked up briefly when she came in, but was now staring just as intently at the table.

There was something … odd in Alphys’s eyes as she looked at him. It was a little like the way Toriel had looked at him in the shed. Like he was familiar. Like she thought she knew him, but … she had no idea where she had seen him before.

For the first time in a long time, Papyrus wondered if other people had things they couldn’t quite remember, too.

Toriel held the mug a little closer, and Alphys snapped out of her trance, taking it in both hands with bright red cheeks. She snuck one more glance at the child, then stared down at her mug, taking a tiny sip and holding it close to her body, like it might warm her up, even though the kitchen wasn’t cold.

Frisk, who had finished setting out the snacks, took their mug next, followed by Sans, then Papyrus. The child made no move to claim his own, so Toriel picked up the last two mugs and brought them both to the table.

“Here you are, my child,” she said with a smile, setting a mug in front of the child, who looked up at her with one wide eye. “It’s my special recipe, so I do hope you enjoy it.”

The child blinked. Toriel smiled again, a little softer, and took her own seat across from him. Everyone else followed, settling down into the chairs crowded around the slightly-too-small table, sipping at the warm, sweet liquid. Papyrus had only had Toriel’s hot chocolate once before now, but it was already becoming one of his favorite beverages. Perhaps later he could ask her to show him how to make it.

“... Wingdings.”

Every head shot up at once, turning to face the child. The child blushed and sunk down even lower in his chair, so that he almost disappeared under the table.

“HM?” Papyrus asked.

The child fidgeted, glanced from side to side, then finally met Papyrus’s eyes.

“My name,” he said, his hands still in his lap. “It’s … it’s Wingdings.”

“WINGDINGS,” Papyrus repeated, testing the sounds out on his teeth. They were new, and a little odd, but he liked them. He gave Wingdings a smile, then turned to everyone else. “THAT IS HIS NAME.”

All eyes remained on Wingdings for another few seconds, and Wingdings blushed deeper, ducking his head and wrapping his arms around his body.

“Wingdings,” Toriel said at last, shattering the tension that had slowly built up between them. Wingdings peeked up, still keeping his head low. Toriel gave him a soft look. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Wingdings didn’t respond, and just kept looking at her with the same wide eye.

She cleared her throat, hesitating before she asked, “I … I believe you already know me?”

Wingdings stiffened and sat up straighter in his chair.

“Of course,” he said, lifting his hands to sign along a second later. “You are the queen, Your Majesty.”

Toriel frowned. Not an upset frown, like the one she gave to Asgore and sometimes to Sans. A confused frown. A … worried frown.

Papyrus knew that Toriel didn’t like to be called the queen. He also knew that many monsters, especially younger ones, didn’t even think to call her the queen, because she had stepped down from the position long before they were born.

And Wingdings … looked very young.

“Yes …” Toriel replied at last, her voice quiet and unsure. She hesitated, glancing around the table before smiling at him again. “Do you know anyone else here? Perhaps Sans and Papyrus?”

Though she hadn’t pointed toward Sans or Papyrus when she said it, Wingdings’s eyes immediately fell on them both. Did he recognize their fonts? Or maybe he just guessed because they were the only two skeletons at the table?

He didn’t look surprised to see other skeletons at the table, come to think of it. Even while Papyrus was still trying to accept that another skeleton was sitting right in front of him.

“No, Your Majesty. I … I’ve never met anyone here,” Wingdings said, very quietly, looking to Toriel before turning back to Sans and Papyrus, looking both more nervous and more bold than before. “Are you … what family are you from? Maybe … my parents know a lot of skeleton families. Maybe they … know you?”

It took Papyrus a very long few seconds to realize what was wrong with that question.

Because it sounded like a normal question, and Wingdings asked it in a normal voice. Like it was something he would ask anyone he didn’t know, even if he still sounded nervous talking. And, if Papyrus thought about it, it really was the sort of question that someone might ask if they wanted to find out the connection between them and someone else.

Except … Wingdings was talking about skeletons.

Skeleton families.

His skeleton _parents._

He was talking about all of them like … they were still here.

Like … there were other skeletons alive.

“I’m … I’m sorry.”

Papyrus tensed at the tiny, anxious voice, and when he looked to Wingdings, he found him sunk into his chair again. Papyrus blinked.

“WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR?”

Wingdings glanced up at him, then back down, then back up again, gritting his teeth. “For … I … I should know you … shouldn’t I?”

He looked back and forth between Papyrus and Sans a few times, as if that might jog his memory. Still, his expression didn’t change, and a few seconds later, he looked down again.

Papyrus tilted his head, frowning in confusion.

“I DO NOT KNOW HOW IT COULD BE YOUR FAULT IF YOU DO NOT KNOW US,” he said. Wingdings looked up just enough to meet his eyes, and Papyrus smiled. “I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, BUT IT IS NOT MY FAULT THAT I HAVE NOT MET THEM YET!”

Wingdings blinked once, then twice, his browbone up and his good eye even wider than before.

“Oh … okay,” he murmured, before turning back to his untouched mug.

He looked … confused, like he still thought he had done something wrong, even if he didn’t understand what. Papyrus wanted to say something to make him smile—he looked like he had a nice smile—but his voice was failing him again, so he just sat there and tried to smile himself, while Wingdings kept staring down into his drink.

Silence hung in the air for a while after that. It was like Wingdings’s nervousness had soaked into all of them, and no one knew how to continue the conversation. Everyone shifted, fidgeting, sometimes opening their mouths only to close them again a second later.

Then Undyne huffed a long, loud sigh and slammed her mug down onto the table.

“So, punk,” she said, and it took Wingdings a second to realize she was talking to him. “You got a place to stay?”

Wingdings flinched, staring for a few seconds before swallowing and ducking his head again.

“Um … I don’t know … I don’t know where my parents are … or …”

He trailed off, fiddling with his fingers in front of him. Undyne hummed and shrugged before downing the rest of her hot chocolate.

“Well, it’s too late to take you anywhere tonight anyway,” she said, slamming her empty mug down again. “We can try tomorrow, but for now, best bet is probably to have you stay with us. Who’s home tomorrow? I’m working.”

Everyone relayed their plans for the next day, for work or school or time at home. Toriel agreed to call in sick so that she could help take care of Wingdings, and began to list out the steps she would take to find the family of a lost monster. It involved talking to the king, which she always seemed very unhappy about, for some reason. But Papyrus had learned a long time ago that Toriel would do just about anything for a child in need, human or monster, and that included talking to her ex-husband. Undyne agreed to pick up some kids’ clothes after she got off of work, and Alphys said she would help Sans clean up the mess in the backyard.

After a few minutes, Wingdings slipped away, climbing out of his chair without making the tiniest sound and carrying his mug into the living room. Everyone except for Undyne seemed to notice, but none of them said anything. Papyrus was sad to see Wingdings leave, but if he was more comfortable away from the conversation, then Papyrus was glad to give him some space.

Everyone else kept talking, but Papyrus, for once, didn’t feel like it. Talking had always helped him figure things out, sort through the jumble in his own head, but now things in his head were too messy to even get started.

Everyone he had ever asked said they had never seen another skeleton before him and Sans. Well, everyone except the really old people, like Asgore and Gerson, who said that they had seen plenty of skeletons before the war, but hadn’t seen any since.

But Asgore said that everyone had parents. Everyone came from someone. So he knew that he and Sans had come from someone, too.

Except … no one knew who.

Maybe their parents had died. He didn’t like to think about it, but he knew that people died. All the other skeletons had died. Maybe his parents had died, too.

Maybe they were hiding. He didn’t know why they would hide, since most monsters were nice, but maybe they were scared and didn’t want other people to find them.

Maybe … maybe they really _had_ abandoned them.

But even if any of those things were true, none of them told him why he and Sans had forgotten them.

Why no one had seen a skeleton in hundreds of years, before they arrived.

And now … now there was another one.

Another skeleton, who talked about other skeletons like they were all over the place.

Another skeleton, who had showed up in Sans’s secret shed in the middle of the night.

Papyrus turned his head, looking at Sans, who had stayed silent, too, and was staring down at the table with empty eyes. He looked upset. Papyrus couldn’t figure out what kind of upset, but … he didn’t like it. He wanted to know what was going on, but he also didn’t want his brother to be in pain.

He gritted his teeth and tried to pull his thoughts into something that made sense, something at least Sans would understand, something he could say or ask that would at least start to get them somewhere.

Then, out in the living room, something shattered.

And someone screamed.

It was short, choked, and cut off when it had barely started, like the person screaming didn’t want to make any noise and tried their hardest to stay quiet. But the noise had already made everyone freeze, and without a word, they jumped from their chairs, rushing out of the kitchen.

Wingdings stood on the far side of the living room, near the entryway, his eyes locked on a mirror Toriel had hung next to the door. It was a big mirror, because some people in the house were very tall while others were very short, so the mirror needed to be big enough to let everyone see themselves equally.

Wingdings was indeed very short, but he could still see the upper half of his body reflected back at him.

Most importantly, he could see his face.

And his hands.

He stood there, shaking hard enough to rattle, his mouth open and his good eye wide as he stared at his hands—at the gaping holes—then lifted them to touch the cracks in his face. He was gentle, careful, as if he thought they might not be real. Or as if they might shatter his whole body if he touched them too hard.

A faint whimper slipped out before he clamped his mouth shut, squeezing his hands into the fabric of his shirt and jerking around to face them.

“W-what … what hap …”

He was so quiet, his voice shaking as hard as he was. He looked like Frisk had just before the one and only time Papyrus had seen them cry. Except no tears came. He trembled and whimpered, very faintly, but his sockets remained dry. It looked like the tears were building up inside of him, threatening to break him apart, but he would sooner shatter than let someone see him cry.

When they said nothing, he looked down at his hands again, reached up to feel the cracks on his face. He glanced toward the mirror, but looked away just as fast. He turned again, staring at Toriel, like he thought she would have the answers. But Toriel was silent, her eyes pained and her mouth a thin line, apparently just as lost for words as the rest of them.

Finally, Wingdings’s eyes flicked back to the mirror, locked on his reflection, his browbone up and the lines of his mouth shaking, as if looking hurt more than anything in the world, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Papyrus swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat and took a slow, careful step forward.

“WE … WE HAVE A GUEST BEDROOM,” he said, shattering the silence like snapping a box of noodles into a tiny pan. He felt all eyes on him, but he kept looking at Wingdings. After a long second, Wingdings turned away from the mirror, facing him with his one eye wide. Papyrus did his best to smile. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SLEEP THERE FOR TONIGHT? IT IS VERY LATE AND A LOT HAS HAPPENED. AND BABYBONES NEED A LOT OF SLEEP EVEN WHEN A LOT HAS NOT HAPPENED!”

He wasn’t really sure if that was true, but Toriel had said that human children needed more sleep than big humans, so he guessed it was the same for skeletons.

Wingdings fidgeted, glancing back and forth between his hands and Papyrus. Then he curled his hands into the fabric of his shirt, drawing his arms in close to his body.

“I … I’m not a babybones.”

It was a weak protest, and it sounded more tired than irritated. Papyrus gave him a sad smile and stood up straighter.

“WELL, PERHAPS YOU ARE NOT,” he agreed. “BUT YOU ARE MORE OF A BABYBONES THAN I AM, AND THAT MEANS I MUST MAKE SURE THAT YOU ARE TAKEN CARE OF!”

“That …” Wingdings looked up at him, paused, then jerked his gaze back down to the ground. “You don’t need to do that.”

Papyrus’s smile slipped, and as hard as he tried to tug it back up, it refused to stay.

“WELL, EVEN IF I DO NOT NEED TO, I STILL WANT TO. AND THEREFORE IT IS IMPORTANT TO ME THAT I DO IT.”

Wingdings opened his mouth, apparently ready to argue again, but he stopped, looking puzzled, as if even he couldn’t come up with anything to counter that. Papyrus took the opportunity to slip his hands under his arms, lifting him into the air and holding him against his side, like he had picked up Frisk after a long day at the carnival, when they barely had enough energy to walk.

Frisk hadn’t been all that surprised, since Toriel picked them up all the time, but Wingdings went tense, his good eye wide, like he couldn’t quite understand what was going on. He looked at Papyrus, at his arms around him, and at himself, carefully balanced against Papyrus’s side.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his limbs. He tried tucking his arms close to his body, but it probably felt as awkward as it looked, so he tried putting them very loosely around Papyrus’s neck. He looked sheepish, but Papyrus just gave him a soft, encouraging smile and hoped it would do some good.

No one said anything as Papyrus carried Wingdings up the stairs, just as he had carried Sans from the couch to his bed a hundred times, and Papyrus didn’t look back. He held the child close to him and strode across the landing and down the hall, toward the guest room they had put together for any monsters who found themselves without a safe place to stay. Well, Wingdings was a monster, and as far as any of them knew, he had no safe place to stay.

He still trembled faintly in Papyrus’s arms, stiff and awkward and so scared Papyrus could feel it in his soul. But he let Papyrus carry him, trusting him as much as someone so small and so scared could.

Papyrus didn’t know where he had come from, or how he had gotten here, or who he was, aside from his name. He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or after that. It didn’t matter. Right now, this child needed him, as much as his brother had always needed him, and maybe even more.

And even though Papyrus wasn’t completely sure what to do … he would do his best.

He told himself, with a tiny nod and a faint, hesitant smile, that his best would be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to EVERYONE for all your kind comments!! I hope you enjoy Chapter 3! :)

The living room was quiet for a long, long time after Papyrus left with the kid.

They all stood there at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the closed door to the guest bedroom. No one said anything. No one moved. No one commented on what had just happened, even now that the star of that occurrence was finally out of the room.

Finally, Undyne huffed a breath and stretched her arms above her head.

“Well, might as well try to get some more sleep,” she muttered, rubbing one eye. She glanced at the clock on the wall and made a face. “Not like we’ve got all that much time before sunrise.”

There was no blame in her voice. She didn’t seem to know who was at fault for this, so her irritation just radiated out without a target, filling the air like sizzling heat. She was tired, though, so the heat felt more like an overactive microwave than a lightning storm.

Without another word, she picked Alphys up, swung her over her shoulder, and started up the stairs herself. Alphys didn’t even squeak like she usually did, just yawned and settled into her girlfriend’s hold. She looked half-asleep by the time they disappeared down the hall.

Toriel said nothing else, but her agreement was clear. With a tired sigh and a silent glance at Sans, she took Frisk’s hand and led them up the stairs, murmuring something about reading them another bedtime story in the hopes of winding them down from all this excitement. Frisk looked over their shoulder, giving Sans a look he wasn’t sure how to read, before turning back to their mom and following her onto the landing.

The second the two of them disappeared down the hall, and the room went completely silent, Sans felt his thoughts begin to buzz. They had sat dormant until now, hanging in the back of his head, waiting for a good time to come out. And they had found it.

Now they bounced around inside his skull like a dozen rubber balls dropped into his eye sockets, never losing momentum, never stopping or falling out. Getting faster and faster, flying up and down, side to side, splitting in half and multiplying like the cells he’d read about in human biology books. Threatening to smother him under their ever-increasing weight.

The machine had worked.

Or … it had kind of worked?

It had done _something,_ and that was a hell of a lot better than anything it had done before. It was broken now, destroyed beyond what he could even conceive of repairing, but it had _done_ something.

It had brought someone here.

But … it hadn’t brought their dad. Or their mom. Or even an adult who might have been their parent.

It had brought a kid.

A skeleton kid.

A skeleton kid who apparently thought that there were still other skeletons left in the world.

He … didn’t even know where to start making sense of that.

Sure, the science behind the machine had always been … shaky at best. As far as he knew, nothing like this had never been done before, and most of his own work had been based off of a messy set of blueprints that might not have even been final. He had done as much reading as he could on the subject, and had done his best to pin down the person he wanted to find within that … other place.

But he didn’t know if other people were there as well. He didn’t know if the magical signature he pinned down would be enough to find the right one. For all he knew, this kid had ended up there at some point in the past.

Somewhere very far in the past, apparently, if the kid thought that there were other skeletons around.

But that still didn’t make sense. His running theory was that the Core had something to do with that other place, with people being … pulled into it, even if he wasn’t sure exactly how it happened. And the Core hadn’t been built until well after monsters were trapped under Mt. Ebott. Well after all the other skeletons were supposed to be dead.

And that didn’t explain why the kid was wearing clothes that looked like they were made for someone ten years older.

Why the kid had cracks on his face and holes in his hands that he didn’t seem to recognize.

None of this made sense. None at all.

And he was tired. God, he was so tired. He almost would have preferred it if the machine had just shattered into pieces and left him with nothing, instead of … this.

It was probably a miracle he hadn’t been bombarded with questions already. Everyone knew this was his fault. Well, Undyne might not be sure, but everyone else definitely was. Sooner or later he would have to explain what he had been trying to do.

And someone would have to tell the kid that … if he really did come from another time period … the world that was apparently his home no longer existed.

Sans gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to dislodge a few of the rubber balls from his skull. It would have been easier if there were actual rubber balls in his skull. A little weirder, maybe, but … he could deal with that. Just about anything sounded easier to deal with than this.

He winced.

Well. Maybe not anything.

Still, he forced his own thoughts back to the corner of his mind and started up the stairs.

He waited in his own room for a few minutes, the door mostly shut. He didn’t sit down, even though his legs felt like they were about to dust from exhaustion. He stood by his door, listening for the slightest hint of footsteps or voices in the hall. And sure enough, after five minutes of silence, he heard the door to Frisk’s bedroom open and shut, and the soft padding of Tori’s bare feet making their way back down the stairs, toward her own room.

He waited another minute, just to make sure that Tori hadn’t stayed up to make herself a cup of tea. Then he slipped out, walking as quietly as he could past the other doors to the room at the end of the hall.

Pressing the side of his skull to the door, he could just make out the sound of breathing inside. It wasn’t very loud, but it also wasn’t as slow as he knew Frisk’s breath got when they were actually asleep. Besides, as good as Tori’s bedtime stories were, he knew Frisk’s mind was far too active to fall asleep so fast, and they were very, _very_ good at faking.

He waited five seconds, ten, fifteen. Nothing but breathing, the occasionally shift, like they couldn’t get comfortable under the covers.

Then Sans pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Frisk’s eyes were wide the second he looked at them. He was pretty sure they knew he had been listening—they were pretty good at that, too—but maybe they just wanted to look surprised to keep up the charade. Or maybe they had thought it was someone else outside their room.

Or maybe they had just been hoping they wouldn’t have to face him.

Sans stuffed his hands into his pockets and nudged the door shut.

“hey kid.”

He did his best to keep all threat out of his voice, which normally would have been easy, but Frisk had learned to read the more … subtle undertones when he spoke. They knew when he was angry and trying to hide it. They knew when he was about to say he would have killed them if Tori hadn’t made him promise otherwise.

He … regretted that, in hindsight, but there was nothing to do about it now.

Despite his efforts, though, Frisk still tensed under his gaze. They dropped their eyes down to their comforter, squeezing it between their fingers.

Sans bit back a sigh and quirked his head.

“so. you wanna tell me what you were doing in the shed?”

He didn’t try to smooth his tone out now, though he didn’t make any extra effort to sound suspicious. He knew he didn’t need to. And sure enough, Frisk flinched again, ducking their head lower, tugging the blankets up to their neck.

Sans tried, for about a second, to hold onto his irritation, but as always, it disappeared before it could even settle into place.

This time, he let his sigh slip past his teeth.

“look, i’m … i’m not mad,” he went on, and found, to not much surprise, that he meant it. “what’s done is done. tori always said that if you wanna keep a kid away from something, you better lock it up. besides, i … it wasn’t like i wasn’t gonna do what you did anyway. later.”

He looked away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and finding a spot on the floor to stare at. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Frisk loosening up a bit, lowering the covers and lifting their head to look at them. Still, they hesitated before speaking, and they were just quiet enough to not risk anyone in the house overhearing.

“So … did the machine … did you mean to bring him here? Wingdings?”

Sans started to answer, but realized when the first word was halfway out of his mouth that he had no idea what to say. He wasn’t exactly keen on giving the kid any more of his life story right now. He wasn’t ready to explain what the machine had been for, or why he had started working on it in the first place.

Knowing them, they probably already figured out that he and Papyrus had no parents. No other family. They had probably noticed that there were no other skeletons around.

But if he could keep some of his secrets to himself for now, he would gladly do so.

And besides, even if he did tell them all of that …

“i … i don’t know,” he said at last, figuring it was as close to the truth as he was going to get. He shrugged. “i guess we’ll find out.”

Frisk bit their lip, turning their eyes back down to the comforter and fidgeting.

“I didn’t mean to mess things up,” they muttered. Their hands tightened around the comforter. “I just … you’ve been sneaking off so much and we’ve all been really worried about you and I … I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

They looked back up again, their eyes bright and pained, and Sans’s soul ached at how old this kid looked sometimes, even though he knew they were still exceedingly young. The last of the tension in his shoulders slipped away, and his smile softened into something almost real.

“yeah,” he replied, barely louder than a breath. He chuckled. “yeah, that sounds like you, alright. always were a little too concerned about everyone but yourself.”

Frisk gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I know you like your privacy.”

Sans shrugged again.

“well, yeah, i do. but like i said, s’not like i told you not to go in there or anything. and you already saw what was in the old shed.”

They looked mostly satisfied with that, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if they decided to “make it up to him” by picking up a burger for him on the way home from school. They didn’t like not being on good terms with someone—or leaving any room for either of them to think that they weren’t.

“So you fixed it?” they asked, their eyes bright with curiosity. “The machine?”

Sans shifted his weight to one foot, then back to the other.

“yeah, i guess i did,” he said, as much to himself as to them. His eyes were locked on the floor, but he swore he could see the shed now, the broken machine still inside. Parts of it blown off. Parts shattered beyond repair. Others burnt or damaged. All the work he had done, months of effort, and now he was back at square one, minus a few hundred steps. He sighed and shook his head, lifting his eyes to meet Frisk’s. “anyway, no point going on about all this stuff now. it’s way too late for either of us to be up. have a good night, kid.”

He turned around before they could respond, putting his hand on the knob, ready to get back to his room. Maybe go to bed himself. He was tired. More tired than he had been in … a while. Sleep wouldn’t solve anything, but damn, did it sound good.

“Sans?”

Sans stopped, halfway through turning the knob. He grit his teeth, took a deep, long breath, then turned around.

“yeah?” he asked, trying his best not to let anything slip out.

Frisk ran their teeth over their bottom lip.

“You’ll … you’ll tell us, right? If something’s wrong?”

Their eyes were pleading, that bright kid-stare they had apparently mastered long before he met them. He suspected they had gotten even better after months of living with everyone, learning the exact looks that were most likely to work on each of them. They didn’t use it often, but when employed, it was almost impossible to say no to.

He was pressure they had modeled their look for him after Papyrus.

“yeah,” he said at last, barely louder than a whisper. “sure.”

He was more grateful than he would ever admit that they didn’t ask him to promise.

They let him leave then, with only a smile and a wave, which Sans returned, almost genuinely. He closed the door quietly enough so Tori wouldn’t hear, then started down the hall toward his room.

But the thing about having his room so close to the stairs, even if it was convenient, was that he had to pass by all the other bedrooms to get to it.

Including the guest room.

Papyrus had left the door cracked open, which said a lot, since he usually left his own door wide open. He would close it if he wasn’t in it, of course, and he still had the same “PAPYRUS ALLOWED” sign as he had in the Underground, but when he was inside, he wanted to make it clear that anyone was welcome to come in, and Sans had to remind him to close the door to any room they happened to be in if they were having a private conversation.

Sans slowed down as he reached the door and stopped in front of it, just out of sight of anyone who happened to be looking through the crack. He silenced his breathing, leaned in a little closer, and tuned out all the other faint noises of the house to focus on the sounds coming from inside.

There was … humming?

It sounded like humming. It was quiet, more quiet than Sans had ever heard Papyrus’s voice. But it was definitely Papyrus’s voice. Sans knew it anywhere, at any volume, any tone, even in a crowd of people all chattering away. And Papyrus was humming.

Sans took a breath, slow and quiet, and tilted his head to see into the room.

And sure enough, there was Papyrus, leaning over the guest bed and smoothing out the covers. Wingdings was already tucked under them, looking even smaller now—even though Sans knew they were about the same height. His glasses had been removed, set neatly on the nightstand next to the bed—with a roll of tape right beside them.

That had to be Papyrus’s doing. Sans got the impression Wingdings would sooner keep his glasses taped to his head all night rather than actually ask for more.

Wingdings looked up at Papyrus as he finished tucking him in, and Papyrus gave him a soft, warm smile. It was different than the smile he used with Sans, or Undyne, or Toriel or Alphys. It was a little like the one he used with Frisk, but it was still different.

It almost— _almost_ —looked like the smile Tori gave to Frisk, every time she hugged them goodnight.

Sans’s breath caught in his throat as Papyrus reached out, very slowly, carefully, to place a hand on the kid’s skull. Wingdings tensed, but didn’t pull away, and seemed to relax, just a bit, as Papyrus ran his hand over the smooth bone, like he sometimes petted Frisk’s hair while they sat cuddled on the couch, watching reruns of MTT.

Sans had never seen anything that looked both incredibly weird and so painfully right.

Papyrus was good at a lot of things, even if other people couldn’t always see it. He was good at things most people didn’t appreciate, at least until the situation came up and they realized they were entirely helpless, and he jumped in to save the day.

So Sans knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that Papyrus was good at this, too.

Papyrus only stayed for another minute, murmuring too quietly for Sans to make out, words that made Wingdings nod and relax a little more under the covers. Finally, Papyrus removed his hand, and Wingdings slid down to lay his head on the pillow. Papyrus smiled at him one more time, then reached over to the nightstand to flick off the light.

Sans slipped away, back down the hall, toward the stairs, and he stood there watching as Papyrus stepped out of the room and closed the door gently behind him. When he finally noticed Sans—a few seconds later than usual—he froze, blinking, before raising half his browbone. Sans nodded toward Papyrus’s bedroom door, and Papyrus sighed, crossing the hall and holding the door open so Sans could step in.

He strode into the room while Sans stayed by the closed door, smoothing out the sheets on his bed that had apparently been left a mess when he ran out earlier. Sans wondered how long they had been up, and how much of the actual night was left—he hadn’t looked at a clock since they went back inside. He briefly entertained the thought of sleeping in tomorrow, but he doubted that Tori would allow it.

He … really wasn’t looking forward to the conversation he’d be having with her tomorrow.

Papyrus finished smoothing out his bed, but didn’t make any move to get into it, or ask Sans what he wanted. Normally he hated silence, especially when there was something unspoken between them, but now he seemed … lost. Unsure. The softness Sans had seen on his face in the guest room was still there, but now it had mixed with a quiet tension Sans had no idea how to read.

Sans cleared his throat and started to speak, but the words locked in his throat. He tried again, and not even a tiny sound came out. He paused, running through at least a dozen questions in his head, trying to figure out what was worth asking now and what could wait until things had … calmed down, at least a little.

“he’s in bed?” Sans asked at last, the words feeling stupid and useless in his mouth.

Papyrus hummed, a thoughtful look on his face, his eyes locked on a spot on the floor.

“YES. I DON’T THINK HE’LL GO TO SLEEP VERY QUICKLY, THOUGH … HE IS STILL VERY SCARED. I MAY GO CHECK ON HIM LATER.”

Sans wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He fidgeted, wiggled his toe bones inside his slippers.

“you seem pretty attached.”

He didn’t mean it to come out judgmental, but based on the frown Papyrus wore when he looked up to face him, that was the way it sounded.

“HE’S A SKELETON, SANS,” Papyrus said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was. It was the fact that had been smacking Sans in the face over and over again since the smoke began to clear. But still … Papyrus dropped his eyes to the floor and ground his teeth. “HE’S … WHAT IF HE’S RELATED TO US?”

He lifted his gaze again, and his sockets shone with something like hope. It was faint and muffled, and very, very old, like he had pulled it out from the back of his head, where it had lain dormant for … well, since they had moved into their house in Snowdin, and settled in on their own, coming to terms with the fact that no one was going to come and find them.

Even if Sans had clung to that hope for much, much longer.

“he said he didn’t know us,” Sans replied at last, the words tumbling out on their own. He didn’t try to pull them back. It was true. He had to believe that, and Papyrus had to believe it, too.

Wingdings didn’t know them.

He wasn’t who they were looking for.

And now, any chance of getting back who they really _were_ looking for was …

“WELL, EVEN IF HE ISN’T … HE IS STILL A SCARED CHILD,” Papyrus cut in, before Sans’s thoughts could go any further. He stood up straighter and squared his shoulders. “I WANT TO HELP HIM.”

Sans knew, by now, that there would be no stopping his brother. There never was, when he was this set on something. And part of him knew that he shouldn’t be pushing Papyrus away from something that clearly made him happy.

But every time he thought about that kid standing there, as the smoke cleared, coughing and blinking and speaking in the font that only he and his brother were supposed to know …

Every time he thought about the twisting in his nonexistent gut at every word that came out of his mouth …

He managed a smile, weak and so obviously fake that anyone could have seen past it.

“i thought taking care of scared kids was tori’s job.”

He did his best to make it sound like a joke, and he thought he succeeded. But Papyrus still didn’t smile, or even stomp his foot and shout in protest.

He just looked at Sans, his eyes gentle and unrelenting.

“JUST BECAUSE SHE TAKES EXCELLENT CARE OF FRISK DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN DO IT, SANS.”

Sans winced and shook his head.

“i know, bro,” he said, gritting his teeth and searching for better words. “i didn’t mean … you seem really good at it.”

Papyrus’s expression softened.

“LADY TORIEL TAUGHT ME,” he replied, his voice filled with more pride than Sans had heard in a long time. “I ASKED HER, A FEW MONTHS AGO, HOW SHE DID IT. HOW SHE WAS A GOOD MOM. AND SHE TOLD ME ALL THE THINGS THAT SHE DID TO TAKE CARE OF FRISK AND MAKE SURE THEY ARE HAPPY AND HEALTHY.”

He looked down for a moment, smiling to himself, before he met Sans’s eyes again, his own even brighter than before.

“SO … I’VE ALREADY LEARNED A LOT, AND SHE SAYS NOTHING IS BETTER THAN EXPERIENCE FOR LEARNING MORE! SO … SO I WILL BE THE BEST MOM I CAN BE.”

Sans stood there, staring back at him, all the words in his head having long flown the coop. He tried to get new ones out, tried to form them into something that made sense, but each sentence he came up with sounded more ridiculous than the one that came before it.

Finally, nearly a minute later, he cleared his throat and forced his voice into action.

“bro … are you … look, i’m sure you’d be a great mom,” he started, trying to make sure his brother didn’t take any of this as an insult. “but … we don’t know anything about this. we … we don’t know where he came from or why he’s here or—”

“YOUR MACHINE BROUGHT HIM HERE.”

Sans swore he could actually feel the remainder of his sentence drying up in his throat.

He blinked once, twice, three times, but no matter how many times his eyes reopened, Papyrus still stood in front of him, watching him as calmly as ever. Waiting for a response Sans didn’t know how to give.

Papyrus tilted his head, but there was no furrow in his browbone, no confused frown, nothing to suggest that he had the slightest doubt in his head.

“DIDN’T IT, SANS?”

“i …”

Sans had a million lies ready, months and months of excuses waiting in short-term memory. They were right there, easy to access, easy to snatch up and throw back out, just like he had done a hundred times before.

But none of them came out.

His voice choked, and then it died completely.

Papyrus straightened his head, and finally his browbone creased, his mouth curving into a frown.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO MAKE IT DO?” he asked, his tone as patient as ever, far more curious than upset. “DO YOU KNOW HIM, SANS?”

Sans swallowed once, then again, trying to clear the path for his voice to come up. For a few seconds, it stayed blocked, silent and frozen, but then he swallowed a third time, and it finally cleared.

“no,” he said. This time, he was the truth. “no, i don’t know who he is. i’ve never seen him before, and he … he already said he doesn’t know us.”

Papyrus hummed. Still, there was no suspicion on his face. Just confusion.

“WERE YOU TRYING TO BRING SOMEONE ELSE HERE, THEN?”

It took all the self-control Sans possessed not to completely freeze up.

He had spent a very long time lying, and plenty of that lying had been to his brother. But it never got any easier with Papyrus. He hated the feeling of hiding something from his brother, who meant more to him than anyone else in the world. And he knew that one day it was going to come back and bite him in the butt, even if he didn’t have one.

Still, he tried to search for a good answer, something between the truth and the frantic “no” he wanted to blurt out. But apparently he had already been silent for far too long—either that, or the expression on his face was a little too obvious. Because Papyrus’s face softened, the confusion slipping away into something between concern and sadness.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER IF YOU DON’T WANT TO,” he said, with all the understanding in the world. “I KNOW YOU LIKE YOUR PRIVACY.”

He glanced to the side, though Sans got the feeling he wasn’t looking at anything either of them could see.

“AND I KNOW YOU LIKE YOUR SHED TO BE PRIVATE.”

There was no judgment in his tone, no bitterness, but Sans still flinched. As hard as he had tried to keep his little “project” back in the underground a secret, he had always known, deep down, that he hadn’t succeeded. Sure, maybe Papyrus had never figured out exactly what he was working on, but he had also never bought any of the lies Sans had come up with about what the shed was for.

He had known something was up. But he respected Sans’s privacy. Respected what he didn’t want to tell him.

Even if it made him sad that Sans was keeping even more secrets.

“BUT … I TRUST YOU TO MAKE CHOICES, SANS, EVEN IF I DON’T ALWAYS UNDERSTAND THEM,” Papyrus went on, turning to face him again and snapping Sans’s attention out of his thoughts. His eyes brightened, and he gave Sans a pleading, hopeful look. “SO … YOU CAN TRUST ME TO MAKE CHOICES, TOO.”

It came out as a statement, but Sans could hear the question lurking just below the surface.

Sans’s mouth twitched up at the corners, and he felt his eyes soften, even as his soul twinged.

“of course i can, bro,” he murmured, the words sounding infinitely louder than he knew they were. “you’re the coolest, after all.”

Papyrus smiled back.

“INDEED! AND … AND YOU ARE EXTREMELY COOL, TOO.”

Something soft and warm grew in Sans’s chest, smothering the pain until it was nothing more than an ember. His smile widened, and he said nothing else. He didn’t need to.

Sans left a minute later, after saying goodbye and giving his brother a long, tight hug. They didn’t hug as often nowadays as they used to Underground. He hoped that would change. He had missed it.

The house was painfully silent as he slipped back into the hallway and walked to his own room. He had been coming here for months now, but the room still looked strange sometimes. Unfamiliar. Like it was someone else’s and he didn’t belong here.

He had mentioned it to Tori once, offhand, and she said that she felt that way sometimes, too. She said it would probably go away, once they were here long enough.

She didn’t have an answer when he asked what “long enough” would be.

He sat down on his bed, flicking off the lamp but not getting under the covers. In the Underground, turning off the lights had meant almost complete darkness, at least at night, when the artificial lights scattered around the cave ceiling had been shut off. Usually some nocturnal monsters left their lights on, but there was enough space in their part of town to mean very little light got in. When the lights were off, the lights were off, and you better either have very good night vision or be able to make it to your bed without sight—though glowing your eyes also worked pretty well.

Here … here the moonlight streamed in through his window, the glistening of the stars faint but still noticeable. The first few nights on the surface, when they were still staying at the camp close to the mountain, he had come out of his tent every night to look at the sky, to appreciate it, just in case they were shoved back under the mountain the next day.

He looked out the window now, his eyes locking onto each twinkling star in the pitch-black sky, the glow of the moon lighting up the neighborhood even though it was out of his line of sight.

He wondered what their backyard would look like under that glow, smokey, with a wrecked shed sitting right on the edge of Tori’s carefully-maintained garden.

He wondered if any of the machine would be salvageable when he went to clean it up in the morning.

Sans huffed a sigh, kicked off his slippers, and climbed back onto his bed, not even bothering to pull up the covers. A bit of the outside chill came in from his window, but he savored it. Tori kept the house so warm nowadays, for Frisk’s sake, and the cold was … familiar, after so long living in Snowdin. Besides, it wasn’t like he had skin to get frostbite.

He stared up at the ceiling, his body tired but his sockets refusing to close, his mind bouncing from thought to thought so fast he could barely keep up with it. The tension that had twisted in his chest when he first woke up in his bed remained, just as tight as before.

There was something wrong. About all of this, for sure, but … there was also something wrong with the kid.

With Wingdings.

It felt like Frisk had felt when he first saw them wandering through the woods. Except … older. Deeper. It felt like some part of him that he had forgotten existed was aching, tugging, screaming at him in a language he couldn’t understand him. Like he had just discovered a missing piece of his soul, but whenever he tried to fit it into place, the jagged edges threatened to stab a hole in the rest of him.

It felt like he had forgotten something, something very, very important, but every instinct told him he didn’t want to remember it.

Wingdings had said he didn’t know them, and Sans was almost sure he wasn’t lying. This kid had never seen them before, didn’t know who they were, and, by the looks of it, didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. When Sans looked at him, he didn’t see a hint of past violence. By all evidence, he wasn’t dangerous.

But every time Sans looked at him, every time he heard him speak, he felt … uncomfortable.

Nervous.

Worried.

There were no thoughts attached to the feelings, no memories, no hints of what might be making him feel that way. It was like something had snuck into his ribcage and was poking at his soul, but every time he tried to find it, it slipped away and hid behind his back.

Like the things he knew but didn’t know how he knew them, only … bad. Very, very bad.

Wingdings wasn’t the person he had been looking for. The person he had wanted to bring back. But here he was. Somehow, he had been yanked out of whatever world he had come from and pulled into theirs, and Sans had no idea if there was a way to send him back.

The machine had worked. It had brought someone here from a place that shouldn’t have been accessible. It had brought them another skeleton.

And just as he had feared, it had made things infinitely more complicated than they had been before.

He didn’t know what he was going to tell Tori, or anyone else, when they asked what he had been trying to do. He didn’t know how he was going to explain who Wingdings was when he didn’t even know himself. He didn’t know how he was going to talk to Wingdings about the fact that he was probably stuck here, permanently, a world away from his family and almost every monster he had ever met.

And he didn’t know how he was going to go about solving yet another mystery piled on top of the crazy mysteries that seemed to have made up his and his brother’s life.

Because Wingdings might not have been the one he was looking for.

But Sans had no doubt that somehow, in some weird way, he knew him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Dang_. Thank you so much, everyone!!

Papyrus finally fell asleep a little before six, and as usual, he was up at seven.

He had gone without sleep more times than he could count, but it had been a while. Lady Toriel was uncomfortable with the idea of him “not getting enough sleep,” so she had been gently encouraging him to go to bed earlier and earlier, and sleep later and later, until he was getting at least five hours of sleep a night.

She said that still wasn’t enough, but Papyrus had never felt more well-rested in his life.

This time, unlike most days, he wasn’t the first one awake. Toriel was already in the kitchen, filling up the coffee pot—for Undyne and Alphys, mostly—the kettle whistling on the stove. She smiled at him when he stepped inside, her eyes gentle and tired, and he gave her his best encouraging face. Her own smile got a little wider, so he was pretty sure he succeeded.

While she finished the drinks, Papyrus started making waffles, which had become his second-favorite breakfast food, just after dinosaur oatmeal. Frisk bounded downstairs just after he finished the first batch, already dressed and smiling, and Undyne and Alphys came down halfway through the second. Just as he was taking that batch out of the waffle iron, Sans appeared at the table, looking even more asleep than usual, poking at the mug of tea Toriel set in front of him without actually drinking it.

Papyrus had just put the third batch of batter in the iron when he heard the soft tapping of bony feet on the wood floor of the living room. It was slow, and as quiet as a set of bony feet could be, but he had been listening to Sans padding around the house barefoot for a long time, and he couldn’t have missed it for anything.

Still, he waited until the padding had almost reached the kitchen before he turned around, catching sight of the child trying his very best to sneak in without disturbing anyone. Papyrus beamed.

“GOOD MORNING, WINGDINGS!”

Wingdings froze.

And everyone at the table turned their head to face him.

He blinked his good eye back at them, looking to Papyrus, then to the group again. He brought his arms close to his body, his hands hidden in the oversized sleeves of his shirt. Papyrus knew that there was no chance that he could have sat down without drawing everyone’s attention, but still, perhaps he should have let him come in without such a grand welcome.

“Hello there, dear,” Toriel cut in, before Papyrus could think of something to say, or Wingdings could run off. She gave him a warm smile from her spot at the counter. “Did you sleep well? You must not have gotten very much. You’re more than welcome to take a long nap after breakfast.”

Wingdings opened his mouth, then paused, as if remembering something, and lifted his hands to sign along with his words.

“I … I’m alright, Your M-Majesty.”

Papyrus didn’t know someone could stutter while signing, but Wingdings managed it. It looked a little awkward, as if it were still new to him, but like he had still done it enough to get used to it.

If other monsters couldn’t understand his font … did he have to sign all the time?

Toriel chuckled, drawing Papyrus’s attention back to her.

“You’re welcome to call me Toriel,” she told Wingdings, her smile somehow even more reassuring.

Wingdings just stared, his eye almost impossibly wide, as if he couldn’t even conceive of the idea.

Papyrus didn’t really understand that, since quite a lot of monsters referred to the king by his first name, and Toriel wasn’t even the queen anymore. But he decided not to mention it.

“I MADE WAFFLES,” he said instead, gesturing to a plate stacked high with eight, four more cooking in front of him. “WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?”

Wingdings looked at the plate, then at the iron, his browbone furrowing and his mouth curving into a slight, confused frown.

“... waffles?”

Papyrus … wasn’t sure how someone could sound so confused about waffles, but he just smiled and nodded.

“YES! WAFFLES! A FLUFFY PASTRY-LIKE BREAKFAST FOOD WHICH IS OFTEN COATED WITH SYRUP AND FRUIT AND POWDERED SUGAR!”

Wingdings kept staring, just as baffled as before. As she sat at the table with her morning tea, Toriel gave him a slightly worried look.

“Have you never had waffles, my child?”

Wingdings turned to her, and Papyrus was sure he didn’t imagine a small flinch. Wingdings blinked a few times, as if unsure how to answer, or whether giving the wrong answer would offend her.

“I … don’t … think so?”

He signed each word carefully, his hands awkward and a little shaky, reflecting the hesitation in his voice. Toriel looked … troubled, but she just smiled and nodded.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy them,” she said, then leaned in a bit, like she was telling a secret. “It’s my old recipe, and Papyrus has become quite a skilled chef.”

Papyrus stood up taller, puffing his chest out and beaming.

“INDEED I HAVE! NOW EVERYONE EATS MY COOKING!”

A flood of warmth rushed through his soul at the thought. He knew Sans, at least, had been avoiding eating his food for a while, but now he could make dinners that the whole family would enjoy. And not even get mildly sick from!

Wingdings looked curious, and started to open his mouth to ask about it, but in the end, no words came out, and he just took one of the empty chairs at the table, waiting awkwardly for breakfast to begin.

Five minutes later, the final batch of waffles was on the serving dish, and the second Papyrus set it down, everyone was piling their own plates. Only Wingdings sat frozen, staring, waiting for everyone else to finish before he took his own share. When the frenzy finally ended, and Wingdings still made no move to get some waffles for himself, Papyrus took a fork and dropped three large waffles in front of Wingdings, smiling when Wingdings gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“Would you like some syrup, my child?” Toriel asked, holding up the bottle after she finished adding some to her own plate.

Wingdings turned to her and blinked. He looked at the bottle, then at the syrup on Toriel’s plate, then back to her.

“Um … yes, please?”

Toriel smiled and leaned over to pour some over Wingdings’s waffles. Wingdings watched as the syrup drizzled onto the plate, coating each of the waffles perfectly and leaving just enough on the plate to dip them later.

“There you are,” Toriel said, setting the bottle down, only for Sans to immediately snatch it up. She gave Wingdings a smile. “Feel free to add some powdered sugar and fruit as well. I know Frisk is quite fond of both.”

Wingdings just stared at her. Toriel opened her mouth, as if to add something else, but then she paused, turning to her left to see Sans upending the bottle of syrup and pouring what look like half of it only his plate. She raised an eyebrow.

“Sans, are you sure you’ll still be able to eat those waffles with that much syrup on them?”

Sans looked back at her, as if considering her question. Then he stabbed one of his waffles with a fork, lifted the whole thing up, and took a huge, messy bite.

Papyrus and Toriel both gave loud, irritated sighs, but Frisk giggled. Wingdings stared in silence, but Papyrus swore that, just for a second, it looked like he was smiling.

Wingdings watched as everyone else started eating their waffles, and only after they had all taken their first bites did he pick up his own fork. He stabbed the waffle a few times before trying to cut a piece off with the side of his fork, mimicking Toriel’s careful cutting motion. In the end, he got only a tiny bite, but he dipped it in syrup several times before slowly, cautiously, bringing it to his mouth.

He froze.

A second later, he was shoveling another bite, twice the size of the first, into his mouth, and another after that, and another, and another. He ate so fast that Lady Toriel started to tell him to make sure and breathe, before she seemed to remember that skeletons didn’t need air. Wingdings, for once, didn’t even noticed, entirely focused on enjoying his meal.

It was the single greatest compliment on his cooking Papyrus had ever received.

Every so often, Toriel reached over in between bites and wiped Wingdings’s mouth with her napkin. Each time, Wingdings paused, staring at the napkin and at her, like they had started dancing upside down while swinging hula hoops around their feet. Toriel just finished her work with a satisfied smile and went back to her meal like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Papyrus wondered whether anyone had ever done that for Wingdings before.

Then he wondered whether anyone—other than Asgore, once or twice—had ever done that for him and Sans.

He was the first to finish eating, followed quickly by Undyne, who seemed to have taken the speed-eating as a challenge. But even as she jumped out of her chair and ran upstairs to get dressed, Wingdings stayed put, not even asking whether he could be excused, just waiting with seemingly infinite patience for everyone else to finish. He waited as Frisk brought their plate to the sink, as Alphys handed her own plate to Toriel with an apologetic smile before going to change out of her pajamas, as Sans … disappeared when Papyrus’s back was turned. Only when Papyrus reached to pick up the remaining plates did Wingdings jerk his head up, good eye wide, flicking to his own plate like he wasn’t sure what to do. He started to reach for it, but Papyrus just picked it up and added it to his stack, giving him a smile that he hoped said more than words could.

Wingdings, of course, said nothing, and just lowered his head again.

As usual, Papyrus and Toriel did the dishes together, Toriel washing and Papyrus drying, while Frisk put the dishes away. Undyne ran downstairs and out the door when they were halfway through, shouting about being late for work, and Frisk grabbed their backpack, giving Toriel a quick goodbye hug before running after her. Papyrus took over putting away the dishes, and just as he set the last plate in the cabinet, he saw Sans and Alphys slip into the backyard, probably getting ready to clean up the mess.

Papyrus was pretty sure he saw Toriel giving Sans a look as he left, and he was just as sure he saw Sans tense up, eyelights going out as he quickened his pace.

He hoped she wasn’t too hard on his brother.

Wingdings was still sitting at the table when they finished, his hands clasped in front of him. Papyrus thought it must be boring, just sitting there doing nothing, but Wingdings looked more nervous than anything else. Like he thought that he wasn’t allowed to get up, but somehow, just sitting there at the table was making him a burden.

Papyrus gave Toriel a worried look, and Toriel returned it with something that tried to be reassuring, but came off even more concerned.

Then she turned to Wingdings and gave him her gentlest smile.

“Now, my child, what would you like to do today?”

Wingdings jolted out of his slouch, glancing from side to side before his eye locked on her. He fiddled with his hands and ducked his head without breaking eye contact.

“I … I wouldn’t want to bother you …”

“Oh, nonsense! I have the whole day off today, so I have all the time in the world,” Toriel said with a laugh, crossing the kitchen to give him a pat on the shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “And I believe Papyrus has some free time as well?”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised, and Papyrus stood up straight, beaming in return.

“INDEED I DO, LADY AS—TORIEL!”

Toriel’s eyebrow twitched at the near-slip, but she said nothing, and stepped back as Papyrus strode across the kitchen floor to grin down at Wingdings.

“I HAVE WORK FOR SEVERAL HOURS THIS AFTERNOON, BUT UNTIL THEN, I AM FREE!” he explained. Wingdings blinked, looking very small, tucked in the chair that was a little too big for him. “I AM A PERSONAL TRAINER AT THE LOCAL GYM! MOSTLY FOR HUMANS, THOUGH A FEW MONSTERS HAVE BEGUN TO ATTEND AS WELL! THEY SAY I AM ‘HIGHLY ENCOURAGING’ AND THAT I GIVE WORKOUT REGIMENS THAT ARE JUST SHY OF IMPOSSIBLE! WHICH IS BOTH TRUE AND EXTREMELY FLATTERING!”

A tiny sound, almost a laugh, slipped past Wingdings’s teeth, and his mouth curled into the smallest of smiles.

A second later, it was gone, and Wingdings ducked his head to stare at the ground, as if ashamed.

Papyrus frowned, but decided it probably wasn’t the best time to ask about it.

“UM … HOW ABOUT WE GO SIT ON THE COUCH? IT IS MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE THAN THE TABLE! AND WE CAN THINK OF SOME FUN THINGS TO DO TODAY!”

Wingdings peeked up at him, but nodded, and followed Papyrus out of the kitchen and into the living room.

He was even more nervous sitting on the couch than he was at the table, like he thought he might break it if he sat down the wrong way—though he also looked at it like he hadn’t seen anything quite like it before. He bounced a little, testing out the cushions, but when he saw Papyrus watching him, he instantly stopped.

“IT’S … OKAY IF YOU WANT TO BOUNCE,” Papyrus said, more than a little hesitantly. “FRISK AND I HAVE USED THE COUCH AS A TRAMPOLINE ON MANY OCCASIONS! TORIEL SAYS THAT AS LONG AS WE ARE GENTLE ON THE SPRINGS AND CAREFUL NOT TO FALL, IT IS PERFECTLY OKAY!”

Wingdings blinked. He nodded, very slowly, but he didn’t start bouncing again.

Toriel gave Papyrus an encouraging look—and Wingdings a soft smile—as she slipped upstairs, probably to get ready, since it seemed that Papyrus would be taking care of Wingdings for the moment. She always seemed to have something to do, even on days she wasn’t working, and with another child to take care of, Papyrus imagined her list of things to do had just gotten a lot longer.

She had always been the one to take care of everything, since the moment they moved into this house, and even before. She was Frisk’s mom, but sometimes Papyrus thought she was all of their mom, at least a little. She wasn’t a skeleton, and Papyrus didn’t really know what a mom was supposed to be like, but sometimes he thought that, if she was his and Sans’s mom … he would have been happy with that.

But she also seemed to think everything was her responsibility. She seemed to think that it was her job to make sure everyone was happy and safe. And Papyrus knew that even though everyone else had agreed to help, she thought that it was going to be her job to watch over their guest.

… maybe Papyrus could help, though.

Maybe he could help a lot.

With his shorter work hours, he had plenty of time, and if he could find a way to make Wingdings smile more, if he could help him figure out how he had gotten here and how to find his way home …

That would be nice.

And he had always loved helping.

Papyrus smiled and nodded to himself, and finally, after what felt like several minutes of heavy silence, he turned to face the child sitting to his right.

“SO WHAT IS YOUR FAMILY LIKE?” he asked. Wingdings jumped, looking up to him and blinking. Papyrus smiled. “PERHAPS WE CAN GATHER INFORMATION IN BETTER HOPES OF FINDING THEM QUICKLY!”

Wingdings blinked again, once, twice, three times. Blinking looked a little strange with only one eye, and Papyrus wondered, briefly, what could have happened to make his eye always stay shut.

Finally, Wingdings seemed to shake himself out of his shock and furrowed his browbone in thought.

“Oh, um … well, there’s my parents … and my siblings.”

Papyrus smiled wider. “I ALSO HAVE A SIBLING!”

“I have six,” Wingdings muttered.

Papyrus’s jaw fell open.

“WOWIE!” he burst out, as soon as his own shock had settled and he found himself smiling again. “SIX IS A LOT OF SIBLINGS! THAT SOUNDS VERY FUN AND CROWDED!”

Wingdings made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so awkward. He looked to the side.

“Yeah, it’s … definitely crowded.”

He didn’t sound particularly happy about that, but again, Papyrus decided to leave it be.

“WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES?” he asked instead, hoping that that would be a more pleasant topic, or at least a neutral one. “YOU ALREADY KNOW SANS’S NAME, OF COURSE.”

Wingdings listed each of his siblings, all with names that sounded vaguely familiar—maybe from the list of fonts Papyrus remembered Sans studying in that book of skeletons. He grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote them all down, as well as their ages and what they looked like.

He tried to imagine them. He took his mental images of Sans and himself—and Wingdings—and tried to morph them into the descriptions Wingdings gave. There had been drawings of skeletons in the book Sans got from Asgore, but they had all looked pretty much the same. He tried to imagine what different skull shapes would look like, different eyesockets, different body sizes and shapes, different mouths and jaws and hands and feet.

But no matter how hard he tried, they all came out looking very much like one of the three skeletons he knew.

Maybe he could ask Wingdings to draw them later. He didn’t know if Wingdings liked drawing, or if he knew how, but maybe that would help Papyrus’s muddled head figure out who he was looking for.

Even if … everyone he had ever met said there were no more skeletons. And he didn’t know where Wingdings’s family could be. And Wingdings apparently came from a world without waffles.

Even though Papyrus was pretty sure that any place without waffles wouldn’t be easy to get back to.

He sat up straighter, setting down the pen and paper and clearing his throat before turning to give Wingdings a smile.

“WELL, THIS WILL BE VERY USEFUL WHEN WE BEGIN LOOKING FOR YOUR FAMILY! THANK YOU!”

Wingdings didn’t seem to know what to say, and just stared up at him with one wide eye, his teeth slightly parted, like he knew he should respond but had no idea how. So Papyrus just kept smiling, hoping that that would be enough.

Toriel came downstairs before things could start to feel awkward again, and told them that she was going to head to the clothing store and find some outfits that would fit Wingdings better. She asked what he preferred, and he looked confused, as if this was the first time he had been asked that question. He looked down at the oversized outfit he was wearing now, like he was seeing it for the first time. He … didn’t seem particularly happy with it, but as usual, he said nothing.

Finally, she suggested a simple striped shirt and plain pants, and he agreed with a short nod and a signed thanks. But just as she started to turn away, he lifted his hand, haltingly, nervously. When she turned around, giving him the same patient smile, he asked, very quietly, if he might also have a scarf.

Toriel just smiled a little wider.

“Of course, my child. Anything you like.”

Wingdings stared after her for a long time after she left through the front door, like he still wasn’t sure what to make of her. There was a bit of awe in his expression, the same Papyrus had seen the night before, when Wingdings had looked at Toriel like she wasn’t meant to be speaking with him, like she was someone very, very important and shouldn’t have any interest in what he was doing. Like she shouldn’t care whether he was happy or comfortable or safe.

Papyrus really, really wanted to ask where he had gotten that idea, but he got the impression that Wingdings wouldn’t be able to give the kind of answer he wanted.

Instead, he hummed very loudly and very thoughtfully, hoping the sound would break up some of the tension growing in the air around them.

“HMM, WHAT TO DO NOW … PERHAPS WE COULD WATCH SOME TV?” Wingdings turned to look at him, and Papyrus gave him a grin. “I ADMIT I AM NOT AS FAMILIAR WITH THE HUMAN TELEVISION SHOWS, SINCE I AM OFTEN TOO BUSY TO WATCH THEM, BUT WE COULD ALWAYS WATCH MTT!”

He had watched for some sort of silent reaction, since he knew Wingdings was unlikely to state his opinion outright. But he didn’t see either excitement or disappointment, or any other kind of reaction that suggested an opinion. Wingdings was staring at him, a tiny furrow in the center of his browbone, as if Papyrus had just spoken in a font he couldn’t understand.

“WHAT IS WRONG?” Papyrus asked. Wingdings just kept staring. Papyrus flicked his eyes to the TV, and Wingdings’s eyes followed, looking at it like Papyrus might look at a book sitting so far away he couldn’t even begin to read the letters. Papyrus frowned and tilted his head. “HAVE YOU … NEVER SEEN A TV BEFORE?”

Wingdings looked back at him, blinking a couple more times, like he hoped he could somehow figure it out on his own, even though he was clearly just as lost as he looked.

“What’s a teevee?”

Deep down, Papyrus had already guessed it, but it still felt strange to hear. He wasn’t sure if he had ever met someone who didn’t know what a TV was. He had met plenty of people who didn’t _own_ a TV, since they were in short supply in the Underground, and were often put in public buildings where everyone could watch them. But even the youngest children—or monsters as old as Gerson—knew what they _were._

He hummed trying to keep his shock off his face.

“UM … HMM … SANS EXPLAINED IT ONCE, BUT HE WAS VERY VAGUE ABOUT IT … IT IS AN ELECTRICAL BOX THAT PICKS UP SIGNALS FROM MANY DIFFERENT PLACES, AND THOSE SIGNALS HAVE LITTLE TINY BITS OF SOUNDS AND PICTURES ON THEM, AND WHEN THE SOUNDS AND PICTURES REACH THE BOX, IT TURNS THEM INTO WHAT YOU SEE THERE! WHICH IS MANY EXCELLENT SHOWS AND OTHER NOT SO GREAT ONES. WHICH DOES NOT INCLUDE MTT, WHICH IS ALMOST ALWAYS EXCELLENT!”

Papyrus was pretty sure Sans had also said that modern human TVs worked a little differently than that, but that was the best explanation he had for the moment. Maybe he could ask Sans later.

Wingdings blinked a few times, his good eye all but bulging, as if Papyrus’s words were a bucket of water and he was trying to swallow it all in one go. He looked at the TV again, furrowing his browbone, like he wished he could take it apart and see how all of it worked. It reminded Papyrus a little of Sans.

Then Wingdings turned back to him, his face even more confused than before, his hesitation slipping as his curiosity took over.

“MTT?”

“YES!” Papyrus replied, his mind already buzzing with information to share. “THAT IS SHORT FOR METTATON! HE IS A VERY FAMOUS CELEBRITY WHO IS ALSO A ROBOT! HE WAS MADE BY THE GREAT DR. ALPHYS, WHO YOU HAVE ALREADY MET”

Wingdings blinked a few more times. He glanced toward the back of the house, where Alphys was probably still helping Sans clean up the mess in the yard. He looked at the TV, and at the kitchen, and all the appliances that had seemed to baffle him during breakfast. Then he looked to Papyrus again.

“What’s … what’s a robot?”

It was Papyrus’s turn to blink.

“UM …” He pressed his teeth into a lopsided line. “A PERSON MADE OF METAL!”

“Oh.” Wingdings made the same baffled, thinking face as before. “And she … made him?”

Papyrus nodded.

“INDEED SHE DID! SHE IS VERY SMART AND DOES A LOT OF SCIENCEY THINGS! SANS DOES, TOO, BUT HE IS MUCH TOO LAZY TO BUILD A ROBOT. UNLESS THE ROBOT WOULD HELP HIM BE EVEN LAZIER! THOUGH EVEN THEN HE WOULD PROBABLY BE TOO LAZY TO BUILT IT ANYWAY. HE IS TOO LAZY TO EVEN BE LAZY!”

Perhaps he should slow down a bit. Toriel had once told him that he spoke a bit quickly, and said a bit too much at one time for some people to keep up with, and Wingdings looked like he was about two sentences behind.

Or maybe this was all just too much new information. Everything Papyrus said, even the things he had thought everyone knew about, seemed brand new to him. It was like he had come from a whole other world. Even when Papyrus had first come to the surface, and everything here was new to him, he hadn’t been as surprised as this.

And Wingdings didn’t seem surprised to not be Underground ...

“So … Sans likes science, too?”

Papyrus pulled himself out of his thoughts, pausing a second before he grinned, a fond smile he tried not to let too many people see.

“INDEED HE DOES!” he replied. He was all too ready to go on about his brother’s interests—including the annoying ones—but there was something in Wingdings’s eyes, something bright and hopeful, that made him pause and tilt his head. “DO YOU LIKE SCIENCE?”

“YEAH!” Wingdings burst out, so loud Papyrus almost jumped. He froze, horrified at his own volume, before dropping his eyes to his lap. “I … um, y-yes, I do.”

Papyrus wanted to tell him it was okay to be loud with him. It was nice, to hear someone talk as loud as he did—and wasn’t Undyne. And it sounded so natural in Wingdings’s voice, like he could have talked like that all day, if he would let himself.

But Wingdings’s face was thoroughly flushed already, and Papyrus got the feeling it would only make it worse to bring it up.

Instead, he smiled, trying to match the reassurance he had seen on Toriel’s face this morning.

“WELL, I AM SURE THAT ALPHYS WOULD BE HAPPY TO SHOW YOU SOME OF THE THINGS SHE IS WORKING ON WHEN SHE IS FREE. SHE IS ALWAYS HAPPY TO SHOW OTHER PEOPLE WHAT SHE’S MADE!”

Wingdings gave him a nervous, uncertain look, but a little of that hope from before sparkled again in his good eye.

“Really?”

Papyrus beamed. “OF COURSE!”

Wingdings lifted his head more, letting his body uncurl so he took up a bit more space on the couch. Really, there was more than enough room for both of them—the entire family crowded onto that single couch on movie nights, after all—but Wingdings acted like any space he took up was stolen from somebody else.

“Um … okay,” he murmured, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That … that sounds nice.”

Papyrus kept beaming.

When a minute had passed without either of them speaking, and the air between them was starting to feel uncomfortable again, Papyrus finally dug out the remote from behind the couch cushions—where Sans always left it—and pressed the button to turn on the TV.

Mettaton was still working on establishing his own channel on the surface—apparently it was much more difficult to do so here, with all the human channels that already existed—but he had found a way to make all of his previous episodes available for online streaming, and the first thing Papyrus had done when they got their family TV was find a way to access them. He didn’t have time for a lot of TV nowadays, with his job and helping Toriel around the house, but MTT was still one of his favorite pastimes. He could even get Sans to join in, even though he usually ended up falling asleep five minutes after the episode started.

Wingdings, at least, didn’t fall asleep. The second the episode started, his eye was locked on the screen, watching everything like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. But after the first minute, Papyrus was pretty sure he wasn’t staring at Mettaton’s fabulous physique or the intriguing plot of the show. Instead, his eye widened every time a new gadget came on screen, or there was even a simple special effect. Papyrus even heard him murmuring to himself about how Mettaton was moving, or talking, how metal could be used to make someone that seemed so … alive.

Papyrus hadn’t thought he was lying about not knowing what a robot was, but still, it was different to see the evidence so obviously before him.

When the first episode ended, Papyrus picked up the remote to start the next one, but before he could select it, Wingdings turned to him, his good eye glancing up and down, as if nervous to meet his eyes for too long.

“Papyrus?”

Papyrus smiled the same reassuring smile he had been practicing since this morning. “YES, WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings opened his mouth, closed it, and ducked his head. Then, very slowly, he peeked up, his hands clasped tightly in the folds of his shirt.

“Where are we?”

It was barely more than a whisper, and it felt so … wrong to hear him speak so quietly. He sounded even more nervous than he had before, like he was just as scared of the answer as he was of asking the question.

Papyrus blinked and furrowed his browbone.

“I … WE ARE AT OUR HOUSE?”

Wingdings ducked his head again and made a slight whining noise through his teeth.

“No, I mean … where are we? Where is … here?” he asked, looking back up, caught between fear and desperation. “There’s … there’s all this stuff I’ve never seen before. Like … the TV? And … and Mettaton? And robots and waffles and all the things in the kitchen and the rectangle Alphys was playing with at breakfast?”

“YOU MEAN HER PHONE?” Papyrus asked, even as the rest of his mind searched for a good answer, finding none.

“I … I think so?” Wingdings looked down again, running one hand over the back of the other, like it might comfort him. Papyrus could see a flicker of yellow in his eyes, but it vanished a second later, like he was forcing it away. “I … I’ve never seen any of that before, never, and … and even the machine that was in the shed, I’ve never seen anything that complicated, I didn’t … I didn’t even know that was _possible_ and I don’t know how I got here or where I am or …”

His voice cracked, and he wrapped his arms around himself, his bones shaking. He looked so small in that big outfit. Even smaller than Papyrus had been in his earliest memories.

After a long pause, he looked back up, both his eyes glowing, like it was too strong for him to push back.

“Just … please. Where is this? I’ve never been very far from my village, but … but even when travelers come, they never talk about anything like this. But … maybe they’ve never been here. Maybe … maybe I ended up really far away. What is this place called?”

Papyrus’s chest hurt. He didn’t like to see Wingdings like this. It felt like seeing Frisk cry, or seeing them in those quiet moments when they didn’t cry, they just slipped up to their room with their head down, eyes low, not wanting to bother anyone with their problems.

Except Papyrus could usually understand Frisk’s problems. Wingdings …

He swallowed, grinding his teeth in thought.

“UM … THIS IS EBOTT CITY.”

“Ebott?” Wingdings asked, his whole body stiff. “You … you mean Mt. Ebott?”

Papyrus didn’t know why something like that would make Wingdings look like he was about to pass out.

“... YES. THAT IS … WE ARE RIGHT BY THE MOUNTAIN. THAT’S WHERE WE …”

He trailed off.

Wingdings was shaking harder now, his bones rattling like rain that pattered on the roof. He dropped his good eye to the couch, the yellow flickering to something closer to pink or purple, his breath coming in shaking huffs.

“But … there aren’t any other villages around Mt. Ebott. There’s … it’s a big village, but it’s not … there aren’t any others!”

He jerked his head back up, staring at Papyrus like he held all the answers in the world.

“I … maybe this is another mountain with the same name?” he asked. His voice shook as hard as the rest of him, high-pitched and very, very young. “It can’t be the same. It can’t. I …”

He shook his head, harder and harder, like he was trying to shake off his own fear, or maybe shake the whole situation away. Finally, he stopped with another quiet whine and gritted his teeth. He reached up to touch the cracks on his face, his eye flicking down to the gaping holes in his hands, as if he had forgotten about them until now. As if he were seeing them for the first time, or in a brand new light.

He didn’t look like he was in pain, but Papyrus couldn’t imagine getting injuries like that without them hurting. A lot.

“WINGDINGS?” he asked after a long, silent minute, torn between giving Wingdings his space and getting closer to make sure he was okay.

Wingdings jerked his eye back up to him, the colors flashing back and forth in his empty socket so fast it almost made him dizzy. He drew in another trembling breath and shook his head.

“I … I can’t … I …”

Papyrus lifted a hand, ready to place it on his shoulder, like he had done for Sans a thousand times. But before his hand could get within a foot of Wingding’s tiny arm, Wingdings shot up from the couch, stumbling over his too-long pants and scrambling across the living room, up the stairs.

“WINGDINGS!” Papyrus called after him, standing but staying where he was. “WINGDINGS, PLEASE COME BACK!”

He already knew it wasn’t going to work, but it felt wrong not to try.

But just as expected, Wingdings didn’t even look up. He ran up the stairs, tripping every few steps but always picking himself back up, racing across the second floor hallway and into the guest room.

Papyrus expected him to slam the door, but he didn’t. He closed it carefully, quietly, like he was afraid it might break if he pressed too hard.

But even from downstairs, Papyrus could still hear the clicking of the lock.

Then the house was silent, and Papyrus was left alone, standing in front of the couch and staring up at the closed door, imagining the little skeleton inside. Curled in a corner, lost in a mess of dark gray fabric, holding back the tears he probably wouldn’t allow himself to shed, even when he was alone.

And all Papyrus could do was stand there and try to remember the last time he had felt so overwhelmingly helpless.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, everyone!! Your kind response always thrills me. :D
> 
> We've got a new POV this chapter ... ;)

Something was wrong.

No, scratch that. _Everything_ was wrong.

Everything was very, _very_ wrong.

Of course, that wasn’t new. Wingdings had known that from the moment he opened his eyes in that smokey room, coughing and blinking and trying to remember how he had gotten there, and what he had been doing before. He had racked his head as hard as he could, but no memories came, and then that other skeleton was staring at him and the Queen came in and he was being rushed into a strange house unlike any he had seen before.

He had had plenty of time to think since then, but still, none of this made sense.

If anything, it was even weirder than it had been that first night.

He had stayed in his room for the rest of the day after his … conversation with Papyrus, and the Queen brought his meals to his room, telling him that he was welcome to join them at the table but that she understood if he felt too nervous to come out. He didn’t know what to say to that. To her. He had met the Queen before. Everyone had. And everyone knew she was probably the nicest monster you would ever meet. But … she was still the Queen. And it felt so wrong, to be here, in her house, as a guest, and for her to treat him like he was …

He didn’t know.

And that was still the least weird thing about all of this. He _knew_ the Queen, even if he didn’t usually see her this close. The other monsters … he had never seen them in his life.

And there was a _human_ staying with them.

A human who called the Queen their mother.

He … didn’t even know where to start making sense of that. He had seen humans before, of course, but almost always at a distance. His parents didn’t like him getting too close on his own. Humans were strong, incredibly strong, and a lot of them didn’t like monsters very much. And besides, there were no humans in his village, so he would have to go out of his way to interact with them.

But here one was, in the very same house, living with the Queen and … all these others. Didn’t the Queen live with the King? They had lived together since they married, right? Wouldn’t everyone know if she had moved in with several other monsters?

And a human.

He couldn’t get over the human thing.

None of this made sense. It wasn’t even like a puzzle, the kind he used to entertain himself when his head was too full of energy and he needed something to spend it on. It was like a puzzle without a solution, one that you just kept running around in circles trying to solve without knowing that it was impossible.

Except … this wasn’t a puzzle. It was real life. So there had to be an explanation.

Right?

There had to be an explanation for how he had gotten here. For why no one had come looking for him, why the Queen hadn’t immediately been able to track down his parents, even after he gave Papyrus their names. For why the Queen lived with a human, with all these other monsters he had never seen before. For why he hadn’t seen the King. For why he was in a town next to a mountain with the same name as the one he had seen from a distance all his life.

For … for the injuries he didn’t even remember getting.

There wasn’t a mirror in this room, but he didn’t need a mirror to feel the cracks on his face. The … cracks. Like something had smashed into his skull almost hard enough to shatter it. Hard enough to leave deep indents he swore he felt on the inside of his skull.

He thought, at first, that they must have happened when he was pulled here … however that had happened. But they didn’t hurt. No sting, no ache, no lingering dip in his HP. They felt old, like scars from a fight he didn’t remember.

But they hadn’t been there before. They definitely, _definitely_ hadn’t been there before.

And neither had the holes in his hands.

He didn’t need a mirror to see those.

And there was no way those had been some accident, something that happened when he was yanked away from … whatever he had been doing before he came here. Reading, probably. They weren’t the result of an attack. They were perfectly round, perfectly smooth, like they had been carved out with a knife. Or something even more precise.

They didn’t hurt either.

He had tried sticking a finger through one, just to make sure it was really there, and when he felt the empty air where the bone should have been, it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming.

He avoided touching them again.

The Queen came up again, an hour or so after dinner, to bring him the new clothes she had bought for him. He had tried to pay her back, even though he didn’t have any gold with him, but she brushed him off before he could even finish speaking.

She insisted he try on the outfits before she left, just to make sure they fit. She turned her back while he changed, and the second she turned back around, her eyes went wide, her smile beaming, and she stared at him like he were something between a beautiful piece of art, worthy of treasuring for centuries to come, and a newborn baby.

He … didn’t know how to feel about that, so he just looked down at his feet.

All the outfits fit perfectly. Apparently, the Queen was excellent at guessing clothing size. They were pretty simple, striped shirts and plain pants, like she had suggested earlier. Wingdings was happy with that, though. He usually wore the same outfit every day if he could get away with it.

Still, he could feel his good eye widening when the Queen pulled a bright red scarf out of the paper bag she brought with her and held it out to him with a smile. As he wrapped it around his neck, appreciating the soft material, he heard her say that Papyrus thought he might like that color, and now they would match.

Wingdings’s chest twisted, and it was all he could do not to let it show on his face until the Queen left the room.

Papyrus knocked on his door a while later, wishing him goodnight and saying that if he needed anything, his room was just down the hall, and he never minded being woken up, no matter how late it was. He stayed there for a minute, like he was hoping for an answer. Wingdings didn’t give one. He sat on his bed, mouth open, trying to dig out the words from deep in his throat. But the words never came, and finally, Papyrus walked away.

It took Wingdings more than two hours, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed, to finally fall asleep.

He jolted awake the next morning, panting and shaking, only to find the room just as quiet and empty as it had been the night before.

He sat there for what must have been an hour before the Queen knocked on his door, holding breakfast. She invited him to eat it downstairs with everyone else, but Wingdings just lowered his eyes, and the Queen set his meal down on the nightstand without a word.

Her cooking was good. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised—she had baked pies to share with the village on several occasions—but he still savored every bite. How many people had the chance to eat food prepared by royalty? Even if the Queen didn’t act like it was anything special. Everyone knew the Queen was exceptionally humble.

As he ate, he could hear everyone else bustling around the house, getting ready for their day. The Queen had told him it was Saturday today, a weekend, and though no one had to work, almost everyone kept a busy schedule. She had asked him whether he wanted to go out, perhaps walk around the town, perhaps watch a movie in the living room—he had no idea what that last one was, but he had been too nervous to ask. He had been too nervous to say anything, even thank her, which was really very rude in hindsight. She didn’t look mad, though. She never looked mad at him. He had heard she could be ruthless if someone was hurting someone else, if someone was being unfair. But he had never seen that side of her, and he hoped he never would.

She looked sad when he shook his head, but she kept smiling, and assured him that she was just downstairs if he changed his mind.

He didn’t know what time it was now. The bustling had long quieted down and the house was almost entirely silent. The Queen had brought him lunch a little while ago, but he didn’t know what time she normally ate lunch. There was no clock in this room, and the window was at the wrong angle to see the sun’s position in the sky.

He knew he could leave if he wanted to. He knew that everyone—well, the Queen, at least—would be happy if he left, even if he didn’t understand why.

Even if he didn’t understand why they kept staring at him like he was some kind of miracle.

But the more the thoughts stewed in his head, the less he wanted to leave. The less he wanted to learn about this new place he had found himself in.

The less he wanted to know the answers to the questions he had been spouting so desperately yesterday afternoon.

He wanted to know where he was. How he had gotten here. Who all these people were, what all these new things were, and how he was going to get back home.

He _still_ wanted to know.

But … but what if …

What if he couldn’t—

Someone knocked on the door, and Wingdings almost fell off the bed.

He grabbed at the quilt, trying to keep himself upright, flailing his arms and legs to get a hold on something. Finally, he sat up, shaking almost as hard as this morning, his eyes locked on the door.

The knock didn’t come again, but he could feel the person on the other side of it, just like he could feel one of his siblings staring at him while he sat in the corner with a book.

He could just ignore it. He could … he could pretend he was asleep again, or … something.

Maybe he should have locked the door after the Queen came in with lunch.

But … he had already been so rude to everyone, and they had only been kind to him. He had run away from Papyrus even though he was sure it wasn’t Papyrus’s fault he was stuck here. Papyrus just wanted to help, and Wingdings hadn’t said a word to him since yesterday.

The knock didn’t sound like Papyrus—no rapping of bones, no muffled thumping of gloves—but he couldn’t be sure.

Was it more of a risk to let someone in without knowing … or to turn someone away if it might make things worse?

Wingdings swallowed and sat up a little straighter on the bed.

“C-come in.”

A pause. Wingdings pulled his legs closer, swallowed the renewed lump in his throat.

Then the door opened.

And the human stepped inside.

He _definitely_ should have locked his door after the Queen came in with lunch.

They stayed close to the door, their hands in front of them, smiling like the Queen had smiled. Except this wasn’t the Queen. This wasn’t even a monster. This was a _human._ A powerful, dangerous human who his parents had told him not to go anywhere near without them.

And he was alone.

He was alone in this strange house with no idea how he got here or how he was going to get home, and there was a human right in front of him.

He should run. He should hide under the bed, or … or maybe jump out the window. Even if he was on the second floor. Even if hiding under the bed wouldn’t do a bit of good, since the human was just as small as he was and could just as easily fit.

Even though they were smiling at him just as nicely as the Queen had.

“Hi,” they said, and their voice was young and soft. They paused, like they were expecting him to respond. He didn’t. They shifted their weight and cleared their throat. “Can I come in?”

No. No, they couldn’t come in. They had to leave, they should … they couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to a human, and especially not alone. He wasn’t safe, they _looked_ small and harmless but … his parents had said all humans were dangerous, even young ones, he couldn’t … they couldn’t …

Wingdings felt his thoughts slip into near-silence, buzzing around his head.

Humans were dangerous. Everyone said that. Well, maybe not _everyone,_ but everyone he listened to.

But … hadn’t he always said that humans and monsters could be friends?

That they could get along? Understand each other? Find peace, even though his parents said that peace between their races had never been further away?

How many times had he wanted to go talk to the humans in the neighboring village, just to say hello, but backed out at the last second?

It would have been easy to back out now. Just a shake of his head. That was it. A quick shake and the human would—probably, hopefully—leave without a word.

And he would have lost another chance to show everyone that monsters and humans could be friends.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before he could think any more about the many, many reasons not to do so, Wingdings nodded.

The human beamed and stepped into the room.

“I don’t know if we really met before,” they said as they stopped a few feet from the bed, keeping some space between them, as if they could feel Wingdings’s nervousness. Maybe they could. Maybe humans could feel things like that. Still, they were smiling. “I’m Frisk. Toriel’s my mom.”

Wingdings nodded. He still didn’t understand how that was true, but now probably wasn’t the best time to ask. Instead, he lifted his hands and slowly signed the letters of his name.

“W-I-N-G-D-I-N-G-S.”

Even though they had heard it before, they carefully followed the movements of his hands, and smiled when he finally lowered them.

“Nice to meet you, Wingdings,” they replied, like he hadn’t been living in their house for a day and a half, like they hadn’t seen him several times already. He nodded, unsure of what he was supposed to say. They gave him a few seconds, waiting, before tilting their head. “Are you hungry? I know Mom brought you lunch a little while ago, but we have dinner kind of late. You want me to bring you a snack?”

Wingdings hesitated, then shook his head. The Queen’s meals were … big, more than he was used to eating in one session, and he didn’t think he could eat anything else before dinner anyway.

Frisk nodded. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak, because they let the silence hang, but Wingdings didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t have known what to say in a conversation with a monster, and he _definitely_ didn’t know what to say to a human.

He lowered his head, staring at the floor, at his feet. At the holes in his hands. Even after looking at them several dozen times, the sight still made his soul twist. He found himself imagining what might have happened to cause them. What it might have felt like. How much it would have hurt. What had happened to the pieces of his body that had been torn out when he was … unaware.

Whether it was some kind of freak accident—even if he couldn’t imagine such precise holes being accidental—or if someone had intentionally—

“Are you scared?”

Wingdings jerked his head up, his whole body tense, his magic sparkling inside him, ready to defend at a second’s notice.

But the human hadn’t moved, or pulled out a weapon, or even lifted their hands. They just stood there, a few steps away, watching him with soft eyes and a tilted head.

Finally, he allowed himself to process what they had asked.

He shrunk, lowering his head and curling his limbs close to his body. He knew that made him look more afraid, rather than less afraid, and that was probably a bad idea. He couldn’t help it.

Still, the human—Frisk—didn’t look smug or remotely threatening. They looked … sad. Gentle. He knew there was no way for them to really be related to the Queen, but they had the same soft eyes as she did.

They dropped their gaze to the floor, still smiling, but not happily.

“I mean … I know it must be really scary to be in a new place like this. Especially since you don’t know how you got here.”

They didn’t look at him to check whether he agreed. He guessed they didn’t need to.

“I was pretty scared when I first met Mom, actually,” they went on, and Wingdings sat up straighter, browbone furrowed. They did look up then, and they must have read the question on his face, because they smiled a little wider and shrugged. “I’d never seen a monster before. I … there weren’t any monsters, where I lived before.”

They looked down again, and their shoulders dropped.

“I was lost, back then. I … I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I kind of … stumbled into her backyard, I guess.” Their smile twitched further up at the corners. “She was so nice when she found me, though. It was hard to be scared of her for long.”

Wingdings watched them, silent. They looked far away now. Maybe back when they had met the Queen.

He wasn’t sure how a human could have stumbled into the monster village without realizing where they were going. Maybe they came from a village far away, where they wouldn’t have seen a monster, even from a distance.

Maybe they didn’t like where they had come from, and wanted to get as far away from it as they could.

They looked up again before Wingdings could think of any other possibilities, and their smile grew, still soft and understanding.

“I guess this must be a lot scarier for you, though. Since you don’t know anyone,” they finished. Wingdings fidgeted. He doubted they needed him to answer. Sure enough, they nodded, like his silence was all the answer they needed. Then they ran their teeth over their bottom lip. “But … you know Mom, right?”

Wingdings stiffened. They didn’t sound accusing, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was some kind of insult.

“She’s the Queen,” he replied, almost forgetting to sign. “Everyone knows her.”

Did they think he was stupid? Or … maybe that he came from a monster village that didn’t interact with the Queen? Or maybe humans just didn’t know their own royalty that well, and didn’t realize that monsters were different.

Frisk scrunched up their forehead as they watched his hand movements, and even after he finished, they still squinted, like they were trying to put together the meanings of the signs in their head. He almost thought he would need to sign it again, maybe slower, when they finally nodded in understanding.

“But you do know her?” they asked. Wingdings frowned a little, but nodded. “So … you know that she won’t let anything bad happen to you, right? She’ll make sure you’re safe here, while we look for a way to get you home.”

Wingdings opened his mouth, but closed it again a second later.

Everyone knew the Queen was kind, and even those who hadn’t heard it from others would know it within five minutes of meeting her. And she had only been kind to him since he arrived here. He didn’t think the Queen would _hurt_ him, or allow any harm to come to him, even though there was a human in the house.

Still … still …

Frisk’s smile slipped a bit, and they lowered their eyes again.

“I know that doesn’t fix everything, and you probably still really want to go back home, but … I hope we can make things okay while you’re here.” They peeked up and gave him a hopeful look. “It’s nice to have another kid here. How old are you?”

Wingdings started to form the sign, then paused and lifted two hands instead. “Nine.”

Frisk’s whole face lit up.

“Oh, we’re almost the same age! I just turned ten a little while ago.”

“Yeah …” Wingdings muttered, nodding instead of making the sign for yes.

Silence again. Frisk looked comfortable with it, but Wingdings fidgeted, pulling his legs a little closer to his body. Was he supposed to say something else now? What were you supposed to say to a human? Not that he really knew what to say to monsters either, but …

After a minute, Frisk cleared their throat.

“So … it must be pretty boring up here all by yourself. Do you have anything fun to do?”

Wingdings hesitated, then shook his head. He didn’t want to be ungrateful for the room, especially when he didn’t have anywhere else to go, but he missed his books.

Frisk gave him an apologetic smile.

“I guess we didn’t really put anything in the guest room … oh! Just a sec, I’ll be right back!”

Before Wingdings could even think of asking, Frisk turned around and scampered out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind them. It crossed Wingdings’s mind to close it, maybe lock it, but that thought was gone as quickly as it arrived. Frisk hadn’t done anything bad to him, even if they were a human. They were trying to be nice. Wingdings could at least try his best to be nice back.

Frisk returned a minute later, holding a large, thin box in their hands, a wide grin on their face.

“We just got this jigsaw puzzle a few weeks ago, but we haven’t put it together yet. You wanna start it together?”

Wingdings looked at the box. There was a picture on the front, though he couldn’t tell what it was from this angle. That was a puzzle? He had never seen a puzzle like that before. Was that what human puzzles looked like?

He looked back to Frisk, at their smile, at their bright, hopeful eyes. He swallowed.

“… okay.”

Frisk beamed. “Cool!”

Apparently, jigsaw puzzles were pieces of some sort of firm, but slightly flexible material that were all supposed to fit together into one big picture. It took Wingdings a minute to figure out what he was supposed to do, but it was easy to watch Frisk picking out the pieces with smooth edges—the “edge” pieces, apparently—and putting them into a pile. Within five minutes, they had all the edge pieces together, and Frisk started to dig through the pile, searching for ones that fit together.

They still didn’t seem uncomfortable in the silence, unlike almost everyone Wingdings had met. Everyone wanted to talk. It was hard to be around someone for even a minute without them starting a conversation. And he didn’t mind talking … sometimes, at least. But sometimes it was nice to just … be there. Without having to worry about talking.

Maybe people who didn’t have to sign when they talked felt differently.

Then again … he felt like that even when he was talking to other skeletons, so …

“So you met everyone, right? Papyrus said you guys talked some yesterday.”

Windings jumped, and bit back the surprised noise in his throat. He looked up and found Frisk smiling at him, a puzzle piece in their hand as they searched for where it would go.

It took a few seconds for him to even register their question, and by then, they were already looking back down at the puzzle. They shrugged.

“I guess Undyne was gone a lot, and Alphys … well, she’s just a little nervous around new people. She’s really nice, though. I bet you guys would get along great,” they said, glancing up just long enough to assure him that they were talking to him rather than themself. Their expression softened, the puzzle piece in their hand apparently forgotten. “Sans … Sans can be kind of funny sometimes. But … it’s not about you. It’s just … I think he has a lot of things going on in his head that he doesn’t like to tell people, and sometimes it makes him pull away for … what seems like no reason.”

Their eyes went distant, and for a second, they looked much older than any ten-year-old he had ever met.

Then they looked up and smiled again, and they were back to being ten years old, his height, with chubby cheeks and warm eyes.

“But he’s great when you get to know him.”

Wingdings didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Frisk didn’t seem to mind, and went right back to adding pieces to the puzzle. Wingdings could already see where several of the pieces would go, even as Frisk struggled to place them, but he didn’t say anything. He had learned a long time ago that people didn’t like when you gave them the answer. Even if all you wanted to do was help.

“I don’t belong here.”

The words fell from his mouth before he even realized they were in his head, and it wasn’t until he saw Frisk’s eyebrows furrow that he realized it had been very much out loud.

“Huh?” they asked, curious, concerned.

Wingdings swallowed and gripped the hem of his shirt.

“I don’t belong here,” he repeated, a little louder, even though he knew Frisk could only understand his signing.

They watched his hands intently now, following each movement like it was the most important thing in the world. It took a few seconds for something in their expression to click, but when it did, their lips pressed into a tight line. A furrow formed between their eyebrows, like they were thinking hard. They opened their mouth, then paused and closed it again.

“Well … this might not be your home, but … that doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of our family,” they said after a long pause. “While you’re here, at least.”

They gave him a soft smile. He looked away without returning it.

“But …”

He didn’t bother to sign it. Frisk leaned closer to him, trying to get back into his field of vision, as if seeing his face was just as important in understanding him as seeing his hands.

“What?”

Wingdings pulled his arms in close to his body, like making himself smaller would make them forget he was there. Forget he had spoken. Forget he even existed.

They didn’t, of course, and he knew they weren’t going to accept “nothing” for an answer.

He forced himself to look at them, even though he wished more with every second that he had kept his mouth shut.

“You’re a human.”

Frisk blinked and tilted their head. “Yeah.”

Wingdings ground his teeth and dropped his eyes to the floor.

“And … and the Queen is your …?”

He didn’t know how to finish. It sounded so silly now that he said it out loud. He already knew. Frisk had said it themself just a little while ago, and he had heard her refer to them as her child. There was no reason for anyone to have been lying. Still, it didn’t seem any less crazy than it had when he first heard it. Any less impossible, no matter how kind the Queen might have been.

He looked back up, expecting anger, or at least irritation, but Frisk just looked back at him with more patience than he would have thought possible for someone so young.

“She’s my mom, yeah,” they said, then paused. “You’re … not used to seeing humans and monsters get along, right?”

Wingdings felt bad about nodding, but he didn’t want to lie either.

Frisk nodded back.

“That was the way it was when I first met … everyone. A lot of my friends were scared of me when they first met me. Or, well, maybe not scared, but they thought I was the enemy. Not Mom, but … everyone else.”

They looked to the side again, drifting off into their own thoughts. Wingdings wondered how long ago all of this had happened. How young they had been when they had stumbled into what was, to them, a whole other world.

“It was tough at first,” they went on. “Some of them didn’t want to believe that we could get along. Some of them were … really mad at humans for the stuff they did, and they didn’t want to believe that I could be any different.”

They met his eyes again, and he swore he could see an old triumph in them, a joy that time—however much time that had been—hadn’t even started to dim.

“But it all worked out in the end. I made friends with everyone, and now they’re the best family I could ever ask for.”

They meant it. Wingdings didn’t know if humans looked different when they were lying—and monsters all looked so different that it was difficult to read from expression alone—but he knew they weren’t. He didn’t think anyone could fake that shine in their eyes.

Frisk smiled at him, and the hope radiated off them like an eye glowing aura, soothing and warm.

“So … if they can get along with me, even with all the stuff working against us … I know you’ll be able to get along with them, too. I know we just met and I don’t know you very well, but I’d like to. And … and so does everyone else. Especially Papyrus. He cares about you a lot.”

Wingdings’s felt his browbone crease in the middle. He looked down at the puzzle again, at all the pieces already put together, all the pieces they had yet to sort through.

“But he hardly knows me.”

Frisk laughed, very quietly.

“Monsters are funny like that,” they said with a shrug. “Even if they barely know you, it doesn’t mean they can’t really love you.”

Wingdings looked up again. The crease in his brow bone deepened.

“I thought humans didn’t like monsters.”

It was more of a question than he had intended, because he realized, even as the words were coming out, that he couldn’t claim it as a truth. He could no longer claim that he believed it as thoroughly as he had mere hours before.

Frisk made what Wingdings guessed was a thinking face, staring down at the puzzle like it was far less complicated than their answer.

“Well … some don’t. But some do,” they replied, looking back up at him. Their eyes looked old again, like they had seen enough examples of both to last a lifetime. “Humans are all different. Just like monsters. Some are mean … but some are nice. And most of them are somewhere in between.”

They smiled a little. Wingdings didn’t smile back.

Frisk hesitated, then tilted their head. “I guess you haven’t met a lot of nice humans, though?”

Wingdings ground his teeth and looked down at the puzzle. It was coming along nicely, even though they had really just started. He wondered why no one in his village had picked up this kind of puzzle. He thought they would like it, even if it had been made by humans.

“I … I don’t know. I … I don’t see them a lot,” he murmured, thinking back to all the glimpses he had caught from a distance, the rare times he had seen a human up close. How quickly his parents had pulled him away when he did. “Monsters and humans don’t get along very well. Where … where I come from.”

He still didn’t know how far away he _was_ from where he came from, but it seemed clearer and clearer to him that wherever he was, it wasn’t home. Maybe there really was another Mt. Ebbot. Or maybe this village was on the other side of the mountain.

That … didn’t explain why the Queen was here, or why she seemed to act like this was her home. Or … all the strange technology that was worlds away from anything he had ever seen.

And where was the King? He knew they had their own lives, and the Queen never hesitated to do things without her husband, but …

“Wingdings?”

Wingdings didn’t jump this time, but only because he immediately tensed all his bones to keep himself from moving. He looked up more slowly, sheepishly, and found Frisk watching him, worried. He sunk a little further toward the ground.

“Sorry.”

Frisk’s eyes looked sad, but they smiled again and shook their head.

“It’s okay,” they said, and even though his own mind was still berating him, it was hard not to believe them. “Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts, too. And you seem like you have a really big head to get lost in.”

Wingdings lifted his head, browbone furrowed.

“Is … that a good thing?”

Frisk grinned wider.

“Yeah! It means I think you’re smart,” they said, then paused and giggled, like they had just heard their own words for the first time. “Not that you really have a big head. I think it’s about the same size as mine.”

Wingdings decided not to ask about that particular figure of speech. Maybe it was a human thing. Maybe smart humans had really big heads.

Instead, he cleared his throat.

“Well … you’re good at puzzles,” he replied, almost forgetting to sign. He kept his eyes on the floor, but he could feel them watching him still. “I … I’ve never seen a jigsaw puzzle before, but you’re solving it really fast.”

Frisk’s smile stayed just as wide, even as it softened.

“Thanks. You too. Especially if this is your first time!”

Wingdings felt his mouth twitch up at the corners. He thought about hiding it—it still felt weird to smile like that in front of a human—but after a few seconds, he gave in and let himself smile back.

He swore Frisk’s eyes shined.

They didn’t talk very much after that. They fell into short conversations now and then, but never anything too complicated—Frisk didn’t know sign language well enough to understand more complex words, and whenever he got too excited about something and started talking fast, they lost track of him completely. But it didn’t feel awkward, even when the silence stretched on for almost an hour. They passed puzzle pieces back and forth like it was the most natural thing in the world, depending on who was closer to the right spot in the picture.

Wingdings hadn’t looked at the picture on the box when they dumped out the pieces, but it was far more fun watching the scene come to life in front of him. First the sky, pale blue with fluffy clouds near the top. Trees in the distance. A lake in front, with a cabin and what he was pretty sure would be a deer, standing off to the right.

It looked a little like the view from outside his village, when he was far away from all the houses and people and could just be alone with the beauties of the world.

It wasn’t raining, but otherwise, the scene was perfect.

He had just picked up another piece, one of the deer’s antlers, when a voice sounded behind him.

“So here you two are!”

Wingdings jumped.

He dropped the piece and almost fell over, even though he was already sitting down. He jerked around, his good eye wide, his glasses crooked.

And found the Queen staring down at him, caught between amusement and concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, though Wingdings could see her lips twitching up, and almost hear the chuckle she was trying to hide. “I did knock, but I suppose you were both two engrossed to hear me.”

Frisk giggled, and Wingdings turned back to see them sitting up more fully. If they had been surprised at her appearance, they had apparently gotten over it.

“Sorry, Mom, were you looking for us?”

The Queen chuckled. “It’s no problem at all, my child. I just wanted to let you know that it’s dinnertime.”

Wingdings blinked, and Frisk’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, wow, already?”

The Queen chuckled again, but her smile and eyes were softer than Wingdings had ever seen them.

“I suppose you really were quite engrossed if you didn’t notice the entire afternoon going by,” she said, turning her smile to Wingdings. He couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him with so much warmth. “I’m glad you two had fun.”

Wingdings didn’t know why it was so important to her that they had fun. She was the Queen. She must have had so many more important things to worry about.

But as silly as it sounded, he had no doubt it was the truth.

“Why don’t you find a stopping place and come down to get something to eat?” she asked. “You must be very hungry now.”

A sudden growling sound made Wingdings jump again, turning to face … Frisk, who was patting their stomach and laughing. The Queen laughed, too, and Wingdings guessed it must just be another human thing. A very strange human thing.

“Well, that answers that question,” the Queen said, and Wingdings didn’t ask what she meant, though he really wanted to. She turned to leave, still smiling. “I’ll see you both downstairs.”

Frisk stood up as she stepped through the door, stretching their arms high above their head before smiling down at him.

“That was fun! You wanna try and finish it after dinner?”

Wingdings blinked. He didn’t know a lot of humans, so he didn’t know for sure how to tell whether they were lying. But … he didn’t think Frisk would have spent their entire afternoon with him if they didn’t want to. At least a little.

He felt himself smile back, a small smile at first, then a little wider. Wider than he had smiled since he had woken up in that shed, and probably a long time before.

“… yeah. Yeah, I would.”

And as Frisk beamed in response, Wingdings felt the last touches of his hesitation wither and melt away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the ASL sign for nine is made with one hand, rather than just holding up nine fingers, but unlike the first five numbers, this wouldn’t be easily recognizable to someone who doesn’t know ASL as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, gonna run out of ways to thank you guys. But seriously, thank you. :)
> 
> We're reaching the part of the story that's bumping up directly with current events in Handplates canon, so you may notice I'm keeping things as ... vague as possible in the hopes of not immediately clashing with it. I guess we'll see which comes first: questions answered in Handplates or this story reaching chapters where I can't be quite so vague. XD
> 
> Oh! And a note from one of the comments I've yet to reply to: if Wingdings seemed uncomfortable using sign language in the last chapter, or wished he didn't have to sign, this is NOT a statement against ASL! I adore ASL, think it's a beautiful language, and know that it is the primary and/or preferred communication method for many people around the world. Wingdings is uncomfortable using it, to some extent, because it _isn't_ his primary language, and isn't his "gut response" when speaking. It's basically like trying to remember to translate every sentence you say into a second language as you say it. On top of that, Frisk isn't completely fluent in ASL, so to Wingdings, it's like trying to use a second language to communicate to someone who doesn't even totally understand that second language. Which is frustrating: he'd much rather just speak in his own font and have people understand that.

Tori hadn’t laughed at his jokes all week.

Granted, part of that was because he had hardly _made_ any jokes all week. He wasn’t sure if he had gone so long without making a joke in … well, maybe not all of his life, but most of the life that he remembered, at any rate. Making jokes had always seemed so natural, even in the worst of times, but now … now his mind was apparently too preoccupied to make more than the occasional, half-hearted pun.

Still, Tori had always laughed at those before.

But not now.

He had managed to put off the discussion—lecture—for almost a day, pretending that he was busy cleaning up the mess in the shed, and then with his various jobs. But he couldn’t avoid one of his best friends forever, especially when she happened to be the matriarch of the house. And the one who provided all of his home-cooked meals.

He had been expecting anger, when she finally tugged him into the backyard after breakfast, her face as stern as he had ever seen it. He had been expecting ranting and blaming and about a dozen “you _know_ how curious they are, I don’t know how you could be so irresponsible as to leave such a dangerous machine so easily accessible”s.

He didn’t get any of that.

He got a long, sad look, and a heavy sigh.

God, that was so much worse.

But even worse than that was when Tori finally opened her mouth, only to ask him what the machine was supposed to do, and how it had managed to bring a kid here against his will.

He would have taken all the disappointed looks in the world over that.

Sans was very, very experienced in lying. He didn’t particularly like it, but sometimes, he had to do it, and he was good at it. Still, lying to someone like Tori was … difficult, and not just because she was basically his best friend. He had lost a good chunk of the trust he had built up with her by putting Frisk in danger, even if it was technically an accident. Frisk was a curious kid, and even though she had apparently talked with them about staying away from the spaces where he worked, for their own safety, and Frisk had openly recognized their mistake, all of them knew that they weren’t going to stop sticking their nose where it didn’t belong.

They didn’t talk much about their life before the Underground, but it was clear that they had been fending for themself for longer than any of them cared to imagine. After all, they had made it through the Underground on their own, fighting and sparing monsters with a calmness and maturity most adult humans didn’t possess. And now, though they no longer had to fight for their life, they still made their own meals when Tori was busy, picked up the entire house before guests arrived, and found their way around town like they had been doing it for years.

Several human parents—the nicer ones, who didn’t mind the idea of a monster raising a human kid—had commented that Tori was “so lucky” to have a child that was so willing to help out, so ready to take care of themself so Tori didn’t have to do everything for them.

She had never said it out loud, but Sans knew Tori would have gladly cleaned the house a hundred times, and made all their meals until they moved out on their own, if it meant Frisk would allow themself to be cared for.

But she loved Frisk, exactly as they were, even if an independent child and a slightly-overprotective mom weren’t the best mix. She didn’t get mad when they got into things they weren’t supposed to, because they thought that was the only way to find out what they wanted to know. She didn’t freak out when they got home late from school, only to say that they had walked across town to the grocery store because they noticed they were out of flour. She talked to them, explained things to them, but she knew that anger would get her nowhere good. Tori was very old, and very patient, and she used all of that to be the best mom she could, trying to make up for everything they had apparently never been given before.

She had explained to him—to all of them—when they first agreed to share a house that Frisk would get into anything within their reach, and until she convinced them that they could just ask—that asking would be enough to get them the answers they wanted—they should all make sure to keep anything private somewhere Frisk wouldn’t be able to get to. Like locking up sharp objects and toxic chemicals when bringing a baby into the house.

So Undyne kept her weapons on high shelves, protected by a simple but relatively powerful spell that would keep Frisk from reaching them even if they climbed. Alphys hid her more violent—or otherwise adult—anime in a locked box under her bed, and wore the key as a necklace. Papyrus … well, even his bone attacks were harmless when he wanted them to be, and since he didn’t want to hurt Frisk, that wasn’t much of a problem.

Sans … had thought he was leaving everything dangerous behind when he came to the surface. And by the time he decided to bring some of it back up, the thought that Frisk might get into it had long slipped to the back of his mind.

“it … it was an old project,” he answered at last, when Tori started to look both irritated and concerned by his silence. “it wasn’t supposed to bring him here. i don’t … i don’t know how it happened.”

“But what was it meant to do, Sans?” she pressed. There was more worry than anger there now, like she was afraid he had more of these projects just lying around, and another dozen lost kids were going to show up in her backyard if she didn’t figure this out now.

Sans started to speak, but he already knew no words would come out. He already knew his voice would dry up in his throat like a cup of water on the edge of Hotland. Tori watched him, waiting, expectant. Trusting, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he would tell her the truth.

She had trusted him to protect the human who came through the door. And she still wanted to trust him now.

He swallowed and lowered his eyes.

“it was supposed to … bring someone else. someone i lost a long time ago.”

He waited for the next question. He waited for her to ask who he had lost, and how that machine was supposed to bring them back. He waited for her to ask for more of an explanation, because he knew his words would make little to no sense to anyone other than his brother.

But Toriel didn’t say anything.

And when Sans finally dared to peek up, he found her eyes soft, warm, and very sad.

He didn’t know how to describe the look other than that. He had never seen this one before. It made her look older—close to how old she really was, even if her appearance didn’t match up. It reminded him that he was looking at someone centuries, maybe even millennia, older than him, someone who had seen entire species of monsters die out in the war, who had lost eight of her own children, and who still believed in peace. Someone who had suffered more than he could ever imagine, but still found a reason to be kind.

She hesitated, then reached out to place a large, fluffy hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. She said nothing else, and after a minute, she dropped her hand and walked back into the house.

Sans stood in the backyard for a very, very long time, first marveling at his luck, then wondering what he had done to deserve such a good friend.

He left for work a while later, and when he came back, just in time for dinner, he found Wingdings sitting at the table, still holding himself as small as he could, but also smiling, just a little, when Toriel set his plate down in front of him.

Sans supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Frisk managed to befriend him, and draw him out of the guest room when everyone else had failed. They were a quiet kid, most of the time, and didn’t have a lot of human friends, but when it came to monsters, they seemed determined to make friends with everyone they met. Most of those friends were adults, though, and even if Tori was happy to foster “intergenerational communication,” as she called it, she looked thrilled when they chatted with Wingdings all throughout dinner.

Well, Frisk did almost all of the talking, but Wingdings signed an occasional response, and the rest of the time, he seemed just as content to listen.

In the days that followed, he still spent most of his time in the guest room, but he came out when Toriel called him for meals and whenever someone invited him. He and Frisk played whenever they weren’t in school, and they finished every jigsaw puzzle in the house, along with two more that Tori picked up on Sunday afternoon. After a couple of days, Frisk apparently recommended they move to the living room, since no one ever used the coffee table and it would be the perfect size for a puzzle—and less likely to be stepped on. Sans hadn’t seen the conversation, but however much negotiation it had taken, in the end, Wingdings agreed.

Sans had learned long ago that Frisk often had ulterior motives for what they did—nothing bad, by any means, but things that might not have happened if they had been so upfront. Frankly, the floor in the guest room was perfect for puzzles, and though no one officially _used_ the coffee table for regular things like drinks, that was because Undyne put her feet on it during movie nights and usually knocked off anything else in the process. The puzzles would have been far, far safer in the guest room.

But Wingdings didn’t know that, and if the puzzles had stayed in the guest room, he would have, too.

With the puzzles out of the guest room, though, Wingdings had a reason to leave, and it seemed to get easier for him each time he did it. Even when Frisk was at school, Wingdings kept the unfinished puzzles in the living room while he worked. And though most members of their makeshift family left for work during the day, both Sans and Papyrus had part-time, unusual schedules, and both of them had agreed—with varying degrees of enthusiasm—to take care of Wingdings until someone else got home.

Sans was perfectly content to stay in his room, napping away—or contemplating what his life had become—but Papyrus had never been remotely happy with anything like that. So Sans wasn’t surprised to walk out of his room early one afternoon to find Papyrus at the bottom of the stairs, slowly and quietly making his way toward the kid with the puzzle in the center of the room.

Papyrus fidgeted and ground his teeth for a long few seconds, but he held himself tall, just as he always did, and cleared his throat.

“WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings had heard him approaching, apparently, because he didn’t even jump when he looked up. Still, his surprise was obvious, even from what little Sans could see.

“Yes, Papyrus?” he asked, barely hiding the anxiety in his tone.

Papyrus smiled and nodded toward the half-finished puzzle laid out on the ground.

“WOULD YOU MIND IF I JOINED IN WITH YOUR PUZZLE-SOLVING?” he asked, shifting his weight like he always did when he wasn’t sure if he was going to get what he asked for, and wanted to look confident, even though he wasn’t. “I DO ENJOY JIGSAW PUZZLES!”

Wingdings blinked. He looked down at the puzzle, then back to Papyrus, then down to the puzzle again. Papyrus fidgeted. Wingdings looked back up, a little slower this time, and even from a distance, Sans swore he saw hope shining in his eye.

“Um … you like puzzles?”

Papyrus just beamed.

Sans tried not to stay and stare, even though they couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t resist passing by every once in a while, poking his head into the room just long enough to see how they were doing. They stayed there for two hours, and they probably would have stayed longer if Papyrus didn’t have to leave for work. Every time Sans looked in on them, he found grins on both their faces, Wingdings’s small and shy while Papyrus’s threatened to split his face in two. Sometimes he would arrive just as Papyrus said something funny, and Wingdings would laugh, holding his hand over his mouth like he thought it was rude. And Papyrus looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Wingdings walked Papyrus to the door when he left, and stood there, waving at him, until he disappeared down the street.

Papyrus invited Wingdings to another puzzle session the next day, just after Frisk left for school, and Wingdings grinned wider than Sans had thought his face could manage.

And so the makeshift “Puzzle Trio” was born.

Well, that was Sans’s name for them, and they never heard it, so they couldn’t complain.

Sans’s chest still twisted when he saw Papyrus sitting with Wingdings, chatting with him like he had known him all his life. But he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the joy in Papyrus’s eyes, so warm and genuine and carefree. He had seen a lot of that since they came to the surface, but he also knew that things were … different than Papyrus had expected. Different than they all had expected. Different, and much more difficult.

But his brother had always done his best to find joy even in the biggest challenges. Even when the bank account was running low and they had too many bills to pay, he just grinned and said he would ask his boss for more hours. Even when humans caught him after work and hit him and told him to go back under the mountain where he belonged, he didn’t hit back, and when Toriel healed him, he said that they could have done a lot worse, and they didn’t, and that meant they were making progress. Even when the city ruled against expanded rights for monsters for the third time, he said that one day monsters would be in history books like so many human groups he had read about, who didn’t have rights but fought so hard to get them, and people in the future would read all their names, and they would know how much better the world was because of the work they did.

He was the optimist when the rest of them didn’t have the energy.

Still … Sans knew it wasn’t easy for him, and it was more weight than anyone deserved to have on their shoulders.

There was no forced smile when he was around Wingdings. No hesitance, no hidden worry, no anxiety—at least after his initial concerns had faded. There was just the joy of being able to help someone in need, someone who genuinely enjoyed his company, despite their obvious personality differences.

And they had a lot in common, as much as it … bothered Sans to think of it. They both adored puzzles. They were both desperate for others to accept them. They both believed that humans and monsters could live in peace, if they just tried to understand each other.

Papyrus never said it out loud, but Sans got the impression that if Wingdings were to stay here for longer than expected—maybe even permanently—he would be more than happy about it.

Then again … that prospect was sounding more likely by the day.

Tori had gone through the whole process of trying to find the home of a missing child—even though such a process wasn’t really established within the monster community, because of how rarely it happened. She had talked to Asgore, which said a lot about how intent she was on helping the kid. He didn’t know anything, of course. Neither did any of the other ten or so people she contacted, hoping to find someone who had heard of a lost skeleton child.

Sans had already known that, of course. Wherever the kid came from, it wasn’t anywhere she would be able to return him to.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his and his brother’s case all over again. Found in weird circumstances. No idea where he came from. No idea how to get back where he belonged. Marks on his body that, by all reason, shouldn’t be there.

Except Wingdings had memories. Wingdings had a family.

Wingdings knew his name.

But finding Wingdings’s family was just as fruitless as their own search had been. As Sans had expected—as all of them had expected—there were no other skeletons in the area. No one had seen one—other than Sans and Papyrus—in centuries, and they had no idea where a skeleton child might have come from. When that failed, Tori dug out the old census that had been made of the Underground several years ago. She spent three hours pouring over the entire thing, searching for any skeleton monsters, or any monsters who might have not listed themselves as skeletons, but whose names sounded enough like the ones Wingdings had written down.

Nothing.

Not even a hint of a lead.

It wasn’t until a day later—and one final look through the census, one final call with Asgore—that Tori finally broke the news to the rest of them.

Wingdings didn’t complain. Not like Sans would expect a kid to complain about a situation like this. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream and protest. He didn’t try to run away. He didn’t even get mad.

He looked … disappointed, but he just thanked Toriel for all the work she did to help him.

She promised that one way or another, she would find a way to get him home. Wingdings nodded, but they could all tell he didn’t believe her.

And frankly, Sans was pretty sure Tori knew she was lying.

Bit by bit, everyone was beginning to realize what they all probably knew, deep down, from the second the kid walked into the house.

Getting Wingdings home wasn’t going to be as simple as returning a missing kid.

Tori wouldn’t ask about the machine anymore, Sans was almost sure. But if she asked where Wingdings had come from, Sans knew that he wouldn’t be able to lie.

Not completely, at least.

Even if she didn’t, she—and everyone else—would figure it out soon enough.

It was more obvious with every day that passed. With every piece of common technology that left Wingdings staring in baffled wonder. With every pop culture reference—even older ones—that went completely over his head.

With every comment he made about “other skeletons” like there were more than three left.

And the more he opened up, the more he worked up the invisible guts to talk to people other than Frisk, Papyrus, and Toriel, the quicker Sans could feel the clock in his head ticking away.

He had just gotten home from work one evening—one of his later shifts—when he walked up to the second floor, only to find Wingdings standing outside Alphys’s bedroom, one hand held up for a knock. The door was cracked open—an accident, for sure, since Alphys almost always kept her door shut when she was inside—but Wingdings was polite almost to a fault, and after a long pause and a shaky breath, he brought his hand down gently enough as to not push the door any further open.

No response. When Sans listened a little harder, he could make out faint conversations in Japanese coming from inside the room.

Wingdings fidgeted, and looked, for several seconds, like he was just going to give up and walk away. Then he paused, took a deep breath, and knocked again, hard enough to make the door creak forward.

“Um … D-Dr. Alphys?”

A quiet shriek sounded inside, followed by the squeaking of Alphy’s rolling desk chair. Wingdings stepped back, hands close to his torso, but before he could leave, Alphys cleared her throat, and her bare feet shuffled on the carpet.

“Y-yes?”

Wingdings opened his mouth, paused again, and slowly lifted a hand to point into the room.

“What … is that?”

“Huh?” Sans knew he shouldn’t have been able to hear someone turning around, but this was Alphys, and he could hear her almost trip over a piece of trash left on her floor as she followed Wingdings’s gaze. “You m-mean my … a-anime?”

She sounded nervous—well, more nervous than usual—and Sans got the feeling that whatever anime she had picked out wasn’t one of the child-appropriate ones. But Wingdings shook his head and pointed again.

“Uh … that?” he said, signing the words a few seconds after he said them, as if he had almost forgotten. “I … Papyrus said it was called a … computer? He said there’s lots of fun things to do on it … but … I don’t really know … what it does or … how you would do something on it? It’s so small …”

He trailed off, his hands still in the air, like he thought he might say something else but wasn’t sure what. Sans heard Alphys shuffling around again.

“O-oh! It’s, uh … do you … n-not have computers where you c-come from?” she asked, and there was just enough surprise there to tell Sans that she hadn’t been paying as close attention as he thought. Wingdings said nothing, just stared at his hands. Alphys cleared her throat. “Well, uh … I c-can t-teach you about t-them, if you want …”

Wingdings’s head perked up. He stared into the room, his good eye blinking, for a long few seconds, before his face lit up in a hesitant smile. Then he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

They were only there for an hour, nothing like the puzzle sessions that Wingdings shared with Papyrus and Frisk. But when he came out, he was smiling just as wide as he did after finishing a puzzle, and Alphys poked her head out to offer another “computer tutoring session” whenever he liked.

Sans didn’t need to check to see whether Wingdings took her up on it.

And so the days went on, Wingdings solving puzzles with Papyrus until he left for work, then solving them with Frisk after school, then Computers 101 with Alphys in the evenings, which had apparently started as a basic how-to but quickly advanced into actual programming. Once Alphys figured out how smart Wingdings was, and how inclined toward logic and science, she jumped on the chance to teach him everything she knew, and Wingdings was all too happy to soak it all up.

Sans had to take at least twenty-eight shortcuts to avoid the questions Alphys threw his way, and take shifts during dinner to avoid being at the table, but he managed it.

And as he avoided his life and the answers he didn’t want to give, Wingdings slowly but surely settled into the home, until Sans was sure that just about all of them, not just Papyrus, would be happy to let him stay for good.

He didn’t plan on going back to the Underground. He had thought there was nothing left for him—definitely nothing that was going to help him solve the mess he found himself in. The machine was the last important thing he had left behind. Everything else that mattered was long moved.

But the initial move had been more than a little rushed, and as he lay in bed, exactly a week after Wingdings had showed up in their backyard, the memory of the one thing he had forgotten hit him like a brick.

He lay in bed for another hour after that, staring at the ceiling, and the next morning, as soon as breakfast was eaten and he could get away with the lie that he had a shift starting soon, he headed out the door.

He cursed himself as he rode the bus as close to the mountain as it would take him. This was stupid, really. It was just a piece of paper. A piece of paper he had memorized so thoroughly he could probably recreate it in five minutes. A piece of paper that would serve absolutely no purpose, and was a pain in the ass to get.

But he stayed on the bus every time it stopped, until he climbed out at the familiar stop and stared up at the mountain that had been his home for all his life, until a year ago.

It was just a piece of paper.

But it was one of the only things he had left of a life he might never remember.

Taking so many shortcuts in such a short amount of time was downright exhausting, but it didn’t bother him as much as it had last time, and he was at the edge of Snowdin within a few minutes. He took his time walking, maybe because this might be his last trip down here, or maybe because, now that he was close to his objective, he was … a bit less eager to get to it.

Or maybe because, the longer he was here, the more he got to put off going to work. That was always a possibility.

But even the slowest steps moved him forward, and he finally found himself standing in front of the shed again, staring at the lock that had frozen solid against the door. He tried it again, just for kicks, and just as expected, it was completely frozen shut.

He sighed, gathered his remaining energy, and shortcut inside the room.

Darkness flooded his sockets, and he held a hand out to the side, feeling around the wall until his fingers brushed the light switch. He flipped it. Then he flipped it again. And again, one more time. Nothing.

Right. He had left the lights on when he left, so the electricity had definitely run out.

Sans made his way around the shed, arms out in front of him, until he found the row of drawers and pulled out a flashlight he had tucked inside. The batteries wouldn’t last very long, but he didn’t need to stay for long. He didn’t think he would come back here again. There was no need. Even if he was going to try to fix the machine … well. He wasn’t going to try again. He wasn’t going to risk bringing back someone else who didn’t belong here.

The only reason he would even touch the busted machine again would be if there was no other way to send Wingdings home.

Once he got what he needed, he would leave, and the shed would remain a relic of an older time, and a goal that had never been reached.

He pointed the flashlight along the line of drawers until he reached the one closest to the door. He slipped his hand inside, giving himself just enough light to see what he was doing. He felt the edges of the photo album, the pages inside, turning his head so he wouldn’t see the pictures. He didn’t need to get lost in that now. He wrapped his hand around the edges of the book and pulled it from the drawer, setting it on the counter before slipping the single piece of paper from the back and holding it front of his face.

Even though he had looked at it at least a hundred times, he still felt his soul twist.

The paper had faded a little since he looked at it last, though the aging had been slowed by being tucked in a dark, dry drawer. But the lines were just as clear as they had been when he first found it. The smiles on all the simplified faces bright and warm, like they were real people staring back at him from a life he didn’t remember.

If he hadn’t found this, this wouldn’t be happening.

If he hadn’t found this, they would be going on with their lives like normal.

If he hadn’t found this, he probably would have let his old forgotten life drift into obscurity and focused on the present. The future. The people who were really here.

He wouldn’t have wasted months upon months on a machine that didn’t even work.

Well. At least not in the way he wanted.

Because this _wasn’t_ what he wanted. He didn’t want some random kid who didn’t belong in this place or time period. He didn’t want to be stuck with a broken machine that couldn’t bring back his and his brother’s only known family. He wanted the person in the drawing his brother—or him, maybe, but probably his brother—had done a long time ago.

And he hadn’t gotten that person. He hadn’t.

He … hadn’t. Right?

Sans’s browbone twitched as the thought that had been poking at the back of his skull for the past week finally slipped into the front of his mind.

All he had was a drawing. A kid’s drawing, by the looks of it. Just shapes and simple features. It wasn’t like he had a photo to go off of.

But how many skeletons had one eye fused shut?

Maybe a lot. He didn’t exactly know a lot of them. Maybe most skeletons had one eye fused shut and he and Papyrus were just weird.

Maybe that was why one of his eyes didn’t work.

But he had seen Tori giving the kid a concerned look one morning at breakfast, when he was distracted and spilled his spoonful of cereal on the way to his face. She stared at his bad eye until Wingdings noticed, then she smiled and looked away before he could realize she had been staring.

Tori had known plenty of skeletons, and apparently a fused eye wasn’t normal.

It could be a coincidence. A very weird coincidence, but still just a coincidence.

But Sans wasn’t so naive as to believe that.

He wasn’t so naive as to actually believe that the person who the machine had brought here just happened to have a fused eye. Just happened to be a skeleton. Just happened to speak the exact same font he and his brother had spoken when Asgore found them.

Just happened to act like he had missed out on at _least_ the past several hundred years.

Except … he had been looking for a parent. For a dad. For the person holding both their hands in that drawing, the person smiling along with them, the person who stood between them like he belonged there.

He had been looking for an adult, someone much older than him and his brother. Not a kid who barely looked the same age as Frisk.

This kid couldn’t be their dad. He couldn’t. There was no way, was there? Why would he have come back a kid if he had been an adult when he disappeared? Why wouldn’t he remember them? Why would he act like he had just been yanked out of life on the surface, like monsters had never been shoved Underground?

Why would he have scars on his face that definitely weren’t in the drawing, that he himself didn’t seem to remember getting?

But … just because there were so many things that didn’t match up didn’t get rid of the similarities. That didn’t mean he would ever be able to brush it off as just a coincidence. And even though his own science had always been shaky at best … he had done everything possible to ensure that the person he targeted, the person he pulled out of that … other place, was the one he was looking for.

So either his science had been completely off the mark—more than possible given his lack of solid research and no way to test his theories—or … it had been spot on.

And if it had been spot on …

If he _had_ pulled out the person he had been looking for, and that person had just … not been in the state he was expecting …

If Wingdings was … if there was a chance that he …

Was he stuck like this forever?

Was it temporary, a side effect from being stuck in that place? Would he suddenly shoot up to adult height one day and come stumbling downstairs, remembering who he was and where he had been and all the years he had forgotten?

Would he look at them and freeze, his one good eye wide, before he whispered their names and opened his arms to pull them both into a hug?

Sans tried to imagine that, just for a second, letting his imagination run wild before he would rein it back in. He tried to imagine Wingdings as an adult, as the person in the drawing, tried to imagine him looking at him with warmth and pride and familiarity and … and love.

He didn’t need a mirror to feel his eyelights go out.

It felt … he didn’t know it felt. He didn’t have a word for the torrent of emotions pummeling him right now, so heavy and messy and complicated and painful and just so slightly wonderful that he felt like he had been shoved underwater, twenty feet under, slowly crushed to death by the pressure. It wasn’t quite familiar, but it wasn’t entirely foreign either. It was … god, he didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

He thought about it, and he wanted it so badly, but at the same time he wanted to bury the idea under a mountain where it could never, ever get out.

He grit his teeth and looked down at the drawing, taking it in one more time before folding it up and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his hoodie.

His hand reached for the photo album on reflex, but paused just as his fingers brushed the cover. He was good at hiding things. He had spent a very long time hiding things. But right now, hiding things was going to be a good deal more difficult than usual, and there were only so many questions he could stand answering at one time. And frankly, he was already probably going to have to answer way too many.

Sans closed his eyes and let his hand fall back to his side.

Then he opened his eyes and took one more, long look at his workshop. His makeshift lab. The place where this whole mess had started. The place where he had wasted so much time, to no good end.

All he had ever wanted was his parents back. The people who had made him and his brother. The people who would love them like they had never been loved before.

It didn’t matter whether Wingdings was his parent or not.

He wasn’t going to get what he and his brother had wanted.

Sans slipped his hands into his hoodie pockets and felt the familiar paper against his bone.

Then he took a deep breath and shortcut back home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet again, thank you, everyone. <3

He had been living with the Queen and the others for a week and a half before he finally agreed to go into town.

They had invited him to leave the house plenty of times before that. Every day, in fact. And he had gone out into the backyard once, for a game with Frisk, but the fence was high and he was rather short and he couldn’t see very much of the surroundings from there.

He could see out his bedroom window, of course, but other than the backs of the other houses, there wasn’t much to see.

Even the houses looked different than what he remembered. The houses, and the fences, and the kitchens, and all the strange machines that Alphys had tried to help him understand. He understood a little better now, for sure—she was a good teacher—but sometimes the newness of it all overwhelmed him and he had to take a break.

He tried as hard as he could not to think about how that technology could have been invented, perfected, to such an extent, without him hearing about it. He … was getting tired of being uncomfortable.

Besides, he already knew this wasn’t his village. He was probably somewhere very far away from his village, so far away that he wouldn’t have heard about local technological advancements. Maybe the Queen was on some sort of diplomacy trip—she was known for her skill in negotiating with humans, and even if she wasn’t an official leader in all monster villages, she was certainly respected. Maybe she had met Frisk in her travels and adopted them because they had nowhere else to go, and she planned to take them home with her when her travels were finished.

He had told her, just in case she didn’t remember the few times she had seen him, that they lived in the same village, and so his family should be near her home with the King. She had frozen, just for a second, then smiled at him, as gently as ever, and said that she would make sure to find his parents, no matter how far and how hard she had to look.

He … wasn’t sure she completely understood him, but she had never been gone from their village for very long at a time, and he could always explain himself later and travel with her when she returned.

She had promised to get him back home, and she would. The Queen had always been kind to him—in the brief moments he had interacted with her—and to everyone else she met. And he trusted her.

And if she said that it would be good for him to get out of house and walk around town for a bit with the rest of them … he trusted her in that case, too.

It was a Sunday afternoon when the Queen gathered everyone up for their “outing,” wrapping Frisk in a thick, warm coat before ushering them all out the front door and into the chilly but bright day outside. Undyne grumbled about the cold, but used it as an excuse to pick up a shivering Alphys and jog ahead of them, running in circles while they caught up. Sans and Papyrus followed close behind, trailed by Toriel and Frisk, and finally, right at the back, Wingdings.

He had seen glimpses of the front yard, and the surrounding neighborhood, through the window in the living room, but he still stared at the surrounding houses as he walked down the oddly-smooth stone path leading to the road. The road, too, was paved more smoothly than any he had seen before. No dirt, and no cobblestones, but some sort of hard, slightly rough, but almost entirely flat material. He looked down and scuffed his shoes against it, testing the texture, and when he looked back up, he found Frisk paused behind the Queen, watching him and grinning.

“It’s concrete,” they explained when he just stared blankly back at them. “What you’re standing on now. The street is made of asphalt. That’s … different, I think.”

His browbone creased. “Concrete,” he repeated, without bothering to sign. Frisk could usually figure out what he meant, and besides, this time, it wasn’t important that they understood him. He looked down at his feet again, scuffing his shoe a few more times before deciding he would examine it more thoroughly later. Maybe ask Alphys to explain what it was made of.

For now, he and Frisk ran to catch up with the group as they turned onto another concrete path running parallel to the asphalt road.

The houses in the neighborhood all looked very similar to the Queen’s—well, the house she was sharing at the moment. They were different colors and different sizes, but they all _felt_ similar. He didn’t know how to describe it. They weren’t like the homes in his village, but he supposed that shouldn’t be a surprise. Maybe the Queen had made a point to visit this exceptionally strange town in the hopes of sharing technological advances? An alliance between them would be very advantageous. Probably. He didn’t spend a lot of time studying politics.

He opened his mouth to ask about the apparently-dead pink bird standing on one leg in front of someone’s house, but before he could get a word out, his eyes fell on something shiny and blue, sitting on the edge of the street ahead.

It was … he didn’t even know how to describe it. It was shorter than the Queen, a little taller than him, but long. Probably longer than the Queen was tall. It seemed to be made of metal, but … blue metal? With parts made of glass and two round things on each side and a space inside.

His footsteps slowed, and he started to move toward it, to look inside.

Then something sounded to his left, and he turned just in time to see another one of the things—this one bright red—moving down the street, like a horse and cart but much faster, toward them and past them, the round things—wheels—spinning all the while.

The other one had been empty, but a monster sat inside this one, near the front, like the driver of a cart with the reins of a horse.

Except there was no horse, or any other working animal, anywhere in sight.

“Those are cars,” the Queen said, before he could even turn to her, and when he did, she smiled that ever-reassuring smile and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “They’re a … form of technology that allows people to travel from one place to another very quickly.”

Wingdings blinked. He turned to look at the “car,” but it had already turned the corner. He frowned.

“Are they … like carriages?”

The Queen chuckled, very softly, like she was trying to hide it. “Yes, I suppose they are.”

She sounded nostalgic, for some reason, and he tried not to think too hard about it.

He had already spent a lot of time thinking about his questions lately, and it was getting exhausting. Besides, less than a minute later, he saw an even bigger machine, like a car but large and rectangular, and something else had gained his undivided attention.

They walked for about ten minutes, and passed at least thirty cars of different shapes and sizes, before they reached a small shop, tucked in between two larger buildings with a brightly-colored sign above the door. Even the shops here looked different. He had never seen a shop decorated with such bright colors, but he didn’t have time to ask about it before the Queen led them all inside and asked him if he wanted to get some “ice cream.”

He probably should have expected the baffled, almost horrified looks he got when he asked what “ice cream” was.

A minute later, he was holding some sort of apparently-edible cone, filled with two large scoops of a cold, creamy substance. One of them was almost white with swirls of something golden-brown, and another was dark brown with even darker brown chunks inside.

“You can try a bite of mine, too, if you want,” Frisk said as they licked their own cone—two scoops of something green with tiny pieces of something that was also dark brown, but smaller than whatever was in his.

Wingdings wasn’t sure whether to take them up on the offer, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to eat this if it was meant to be licked and he didn’t have a tongue. But Sans and Papyrus took bites of their own, and Undyne appeared to be stuffing it in her mouth at an alarming rate, so Wingdings finally brought the cone to his mouth and took a small bite of the top scoop.

It melted only a few seconds after it passed his teeth, and Wingdings felt what was possibly the sweetest, smoothest, most delicious thing he had ever tasted slide down his throat.

The Queen laughed when he immediately began devouring his cone as fast as he could without choking, but even as his cheekbones flushed, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Or to refuse Frisk’s offer to taste their own “mint chocolate chip.”

The ice cream was gone much faster than he would have liked, but the Queen promised she would take him here again, and Wingdings didn’t bother to say that he might not be here that much longer, and that they didn’t have ice cream in his village. Maybe they could take one more trip here before she took him home. Maybe she would let him get extra to take home with him.

Their next stop was a place the Queen called the “park.” It just looked like an open span of grass at first, with lots of trees nearby and a few beds of flowers. But there was also something in the middle, some sort of … it wasn’t a machine. It didn’t move and didn’t seem to do anything. It looked like a small structure, made of wood, metal and something Alphys had told him was plastic. Frisk beamed when they saw it and grabbed his hand to tug him forward, while everyone else wandered off, Undyne and Papyrus to jog around a concrete path, and Alphys, Sans and the Queen to sit down on a nearby bench. Wingdings stumbled a little as he ran, but didn’t pause to ask where they were going. He didn’t have both hands to sign with anyway.

As soon as they stopped in front of the structure, Frisk let him go and began climbing up what looked like a small dome made of bright red metal … poles? Poles bent into a curving shape. Frisk climbed to the top like they had done it a hundred times, then turned around to sit, waving down at him from what must have been six feet in the air.

“Come on up! It’s great!”

Wingdings didn’t really understand the point of climbing when there was nowhere to go. But he trusted Frisk, more than he had ever trusted a human—or many monsters—in his life, so he took a deep breath and followed them up.

He slipped twice, his bony hands never able to form a good grip on the mental, but he finally managed to reach Frisk. He took nearly a minute to turn around and sit next to them, but when he finally did, and his eyes fell out on the park around him, he felt his jaw drop.

He wasn’t very high up. He knew that. He had been much higher when he climbed hills near his house. But sitting here with Frisk felt like sitting on top of a mountain, looking down at the town below.

Or, in this case, looking out at Undyne and Papyrus, jogging around the park, while Sans, Alphys and the Queen laughed about something on the bench.

It didn’t look so strange from up there. The grass was cut more evenly than he was used to, and the structure—“playground,” Frisk called it—was no less odd. But this world was still his world. The air smelled the same. The grass and trees looked the same. It was unfamiliar, and frightening new, but this was the world he knew.

Maybe he wasn’t so far from home after all.

After they left the park, they just wandered around the town, stopping in the occasional shop for food or just to look around. Wingdings marveled at the inventions this town had come up with, and wondered whether his siblings would even believe him when he told them what he had seen. They never seemed very interested in what he read, but this was different. This was real.

Maybe he could come back here someday. Even if it wasn’t until he was an adult. Even if it took him a long time to get here. He had to find a way to come back.

Every time they turned a corner, another five questions popped into his head, and it took all Wingdings’s self control not to ask all of them at once. He asked a few—“What’s an ‘electronic shop’?” led to a very in-depth answer from Alphys that Wingdings … kind of understood—but the rest he kept for himself, making a mental note to ask them later.

He was curious. Infinitely so. But he also wanted to enjoy this day while he could.

He didn’t know how much longer he would be with this family, and just in case his parents showed up to take him home tomorrow … he wanted to appreciate what time he had left.

And that meant talking about something other than all the marvels of this world.

“—and I thought I was _gonna_ die when Mew Mew finally confessed and told them what she’d been doing and she thought they’ll hate her but they just hugged her and said they would love her no matter what and—”

Well. Mostly.

“—but the _best_ episode is when she finally kisses the girl she’s been in love with for the last five episodes and it’s the most r-romantic and _t-touching_ thing I’ve ever s-seen and … uh …”

Alphys blinked a few times, like she was coming out of a trance, and turned to look at him. He didn’t think she had completely forgotten he was there, but she just might have forgotten where she was, and who she was talking to.

She cleared her throat and tried to smile, the line of her mouth shaky and nervous.

“Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her head. “W-went off on a bit of a r-rant there.”

She looked uncomfortable, even guilty, so Wingdings did his best to smile the same reassuring smile Papyrus and the Queen had given him.

“It’s okay,” he said, and tried to sound like he meant it. He did, really. But he did his best not to sound as confused as he was. “I, uh … think it sounds like a good story.”

He didn’t really know what he thought of the story—there were too many strange things for him to make sense of it—but Alphys smiled when he said it, so he decided it had been the right thing to say.

She kept smiling now, pausing for a long, awkward second before clearing her throat.

“D-do you w-want to know about a-anything else?”

Wingdings started to shake his head—he liked talking to Alphys, but his head was still spinning from her last explanation. Then he stopped. Alphys waited, as patient as ever, and he looked down at the ground in front of him, his hands clutching the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, um … well …” He started, barely remembering to let go of his shirt and sign. He glanced back up at her. “I found a book in the living room yesterday …”

Alphys perked up. “W-which one?”

Wingdings swallowed.

“ _An Introduction to String Theory: A Marriage of Relativity and Quantum Mechanics.”_

The words felt funny in his mouth, and he wondered if he had just never heard them before or if it was related to another of the technological advances that of this town. He had pulled it off the shelf only long enough to read the back cover and see references to someone named “Einstein”—maybe a local scientist?—before Toriel walked in and he shoved the book back. She had said he was free to read any book he found, but it still felt like snooping, and the last thing he wanted was the Queen to think he was nosy.

But Alphys didn’t looked irritated, or even confused. Her brow shot up and her mouth fell open, and he thought he saw something sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh!”

“I-is it yours?” Wingdings asked before he could think better of it. He tried not to look as excited as he felt, and fought the flicker of a glow that threatened to appear in his good eye. “It looks r-really interesting.”

Alphys laughed, a little sheepishly, and shook her head.

“Oh, um, no, it’s not mine … I’ve always been more into engineering than physics. It’s S-Sans’s, I think.”

Wingdings’s shoulders fell, but his head stayed up, his browbone furrowing.

“Papyrus said he liked science,” he said, hoping she would hear the question behind it.

Alphys smiled again, nodding eagerly.

“O-oh yeah, he loves it!” She glanced ahead, as if checking that Sans wasn’t listening, then lowered her voice. “He’s, uh … not very t-talkative about it, usually. B-but he’s got a t-ton of books, and he watches all these d-documentaries about human r-research. I … a-actually thought he was gonna g-get a job in it, when we left the U-Underground, but … he j-just got a few p-part-time things instead.”

She shrugged, but Wingdings could see that it was a much bigger deal to her than she made it out to be.

“T-that’s fine!” she squeaked out, like she could read his thoughts. She smiled, but it was forced. “He’s … it’s h-his choice what he does with his life. But I think he would make a g-great scientist. But I … d-don’t really thinks he wants that.”

She looked down and said nothing else, and though Wingdings wanted to ask about a dozen more questions, he held back.

As they kept walking, his eyes drifted to Sans, walking next to Papyrus up ahead. They were talking about something—well, Papyrus was talking, and Sans was making occasional, quiet jokes that made Papyrus groan. Wingdings had never seen Sans reading, but then again, he hadn’t seen him very much at all.

It was the sixth time in the last couple of days that he had wondered if he and Sans would get along. Whether they really would like the same kinds of science. Whether he would be able to teach him something interesting and new. Wingdings had never had the chance to study physics much, after all. Maybe Sans would know just as many fascinating things as Alphys.

It was the sixth time he had wondered that, and the sixth time he had sighed to himself and shook the idea out of his head.

Everyone had sought him out at some point since he arrived. The Queen, of course, and Papyrus, even more after their first puzzle-solving session. And Frisk, too. His “computer lessons” with Alphys were one of his favorite parts of every day, and even though Undyne was a little too … loud for him, she had been the one to drag him out of his room for “family movie night” a few days ago.

Wingdings still didn’t really understand what a movie was, or what the story this “movie” had shown had been about, but the popped corn was good, and listening to everyone laugh and yell at the people on the screen was … nice? Yeah. It was nice.

They had all tried so hard to make him feel welcome. They had all gone out of their way to show him that they were happy to have him here until they found a way to get him home.

Everyone except Sans.

Sans had never done anything mean to him, of course. He had … never really done anything at all to him, really. Not even spoken. He had stared at him that first night in the shed, and watched him when he thought Wingdings couldn’t see, but he had never talked to him. Not once.

Papyrus had said that his brother was quiet sometimes, that sometimes he just didn’t join in with the rest of them, even though he was welcome. Sometimes he wanted to be alone.

But Wingdings had seen Sans talking to everyone else, though briefly and always from a distance. As soon as Wingdings stepped into view, Sans would find a reason to leave.

Wingdings had spent a good part of the last few days trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

He asked Frisk about it once, desperate to figure out if he had done something rude so he could apologize for it, but Frisk assured him that he hadn’t done anything. Sans was just … funny sometimes, and he didn’t get close to people easily. And sometimes he had things going on in his head that no one else could understand.

Not even his brother.

Wingdings was almost happy with that. Well, maybe not happy, but he was willing to accept it, and he probably would have, if he hadn’t seen the way Sans stared at him when he thought Wingdings wasn’t looking.

Sans might never stop smiling, but Wingdings had been reading the faces of other skeletons for all his life. He knew how to pick out just about any emotion someone could express.

He didn’t recognize this.

Or maybe there were just too many different feelings all lumped together for him to even begin to read them.

Either way, he got the feeling that Sans was avoiding him for a reason, and even though he had no idea what he could have done, he had the crushing feeling it was somehow his fault.

“WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings blinked and looked up, only to find Papyrus walking at his side, his head tilted in concern.

“IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?” he asked, voice quieter than usual. “YOU LOOK … THOUGHTFUL.”

Wingdings blinked again, then glanced away, to Alphys, to Sans, and back to Papyrus again. He did his best to smile, and it came out almost looking real.

“I’m okay, Papyrus,” he said, and it felt good to not have to sign. His smile twitched up a little further. “Thank you.”

Papyrus beamed, warm and bright, the joy of it spreading out of him like sunlight, settling right into Wingdings’s soul.

“YOU ARE MOST WELCOME!”

Then he turned ahead again, still smiling just as wide, and Wingdings looked back to the sidewalk in front of him. His smile slipped, but the warmth in his chest remained.

Sans might not like him very much, but Papyrus did. Wingdings didn’t think he could fake something like that. Alphys liked him, and Frisk liked him, and the Queen, without a doubt. Undyne might not spend much time with him, but she always made it clear that he was welcome.

If that many people liked him, seemed to actually _like_ him being there … then he couldn’t have done anything too wrong, right?

And maybe, if he was here a while longer … maybe he could figure out what he had done to upset Sans, and find a way to make it right.

He smiled to himself and stood up straighter.

Everything was still confusing. Overwhelmingly so. He didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here or how he was supposed to get back home. This world was strange and confusing, just as much as it was wonderful, and it all made just as little sense as it had that first night when he stumbled out of the shed.

But … he didn’t mind it so much now. Or, at least, he was willing to live with it.

Until the Queen found a way to get him back home.

“Oh my god!”

Wingdings did his best not to jump as he turned, along with everyone else, to face the voice of the monster a few steps behind them.

The monster now staring at Wingdings like he was an artifact of an ancient culture, pulled out of the dirt.

“Papyrus, when did you find a partner?” they asked, their wing close to their mouth. Their eyes stayed on him. “I had no idea you had a son!”

Wingdings couldn’t see Papyrus from this angle, but he swore he could hear his head tilting, imagine the deep frown on his face, just as confused as the one Wingdings wore.

“HM?”

The monster blinked. They looked at Wingdings again, a second longer, then over his shoulder toward Papyrus.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is he Sans’s? He looks so much like you, I just assumed.”

Wingdings turned to follow their gaze, and found both Sans and Papyrus staring back at them with eyes just as wide and baffled as his own. Sans looked at Papyrus, and Papyrus looked at Sans.

“uh …”

“UM … I AM SURE THAT I APPEAR TO BE EXCELLENT PARENT MATERIAL, BUT HE IS NEITHER OF OUR SONS,” Papyrus replied, doing his best to smile.

The monster’s brow furrowed.

“He’s not? Then … where did he come from?” they asked, turning to Wingdings again. He didn’t like the way they looked at him. Like the Queen and all the other people in the house had looked at him when he first arrived. Like he was some kind of miracle.

Like he shouldn’t exist.

The monster smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of their head, making some of their feathers stick out. “I’m sorry, I probably sound very rude—”

“What do you mean?”

The words burst from Wingdings’s mouth before he had the chance to stop them.

The monster stopped, their mouth hanging open like they hadn’t quite processed that they had been cut off. They stared at him like that for a few seconds before clamping their mouth shut, blinking, and tilting their head.

“I’m sorry?”

Wingdings gritted his teeth.

“What do you mean where do I come from?” His voice shook, and he couldn’t keep the edges of anger out of it, but he doubted they could pick out the tones in his font anyway. No one ever did. They blinked, just as baffled, and Wingdings’s breath trembled as he sucked it through his teeth. “I …”

The words choked in his throat, and he swallowed against them, trying again.

Nothing came out.

He tried three more times, but his voice had dried up, and just the thought of coming up with something else to say felt like pulling out his own teeth.

The monster kept staring at him, a touch of sadness and something like guilt mixing with their confusion. He hated it.

“I’m sorry … I’m afraid I don’t understand you,” they said. Wingdings sucked in another breath, and felt his hands hanging at his sides, still and useless. He swallowed again, and the monster smiled. “Like I said, I’m sorry if I came off as rude. I just … haven’t seen another skeleton in … well, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a skeleton other than the two of you!”

They looked up, toward Sans and Papyrus, and laughed, but the sound was weak and Wingdings could hear the sadness—sympathy?—lingering behind it. They shrugged.

“But I suppose not all monsters knew each other, even in the Underground.”

The Underground. Alphys had just mentioned that, and he had heard her say it a few times before. And Papyrus, and Undyne. It was so casual, and they said it so quickly that he didn’t know how to break in and ask for an explanation. They said it like everyone knew where it was. Was that what this village was called? It was strange name for a village, but … that was the only thing that made sense.

Except … they talked about it like they used to live there. Like they didn’t live there anymore.

They didn’t sound especially fond of it.

They sounded like they had been there for a long time.

They talked about it like … like they hadn’t been able to leave.

But that still didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense that she would be so surprised to see a skeleton. Even if there weren’t any in this Underground, that didn’t mean there weren’t any _anywhere._ That was silly. Even his relatively small town knew that there was a vast world outside of their home, with people they had never met and never would.

So why—

The monster chuckled again, yanking Wingdings out of his thoughts, and smiled down at him.

“Anyway, it’s great to see another skeleton around here. I’m sure you’ll add a lot of excitement to our little town.” They reached out and patted his head, and he resisted the urge to pull back. Then they waved at the rest of the group before turning and starting off. “Good to see you all!”

No one said anything as the monster disappeared down the road and around the corner of a building. No one said anything for what felt like minutes afterward, though Wingdings knew it couldn’t have really been that long. The world buzzed around them, cars on the road, people talking nearby, birds chirping, wind blowing, and a dozen other sounds he didn’t have names for. The world moved, but all of them stayed painfully still.

Then the Queen cleared her throat.

“Well, shall we continue?” she asked, and despite her smile, despite her cheery tone, Wingdings could hear the awkwardness she was trying so desperately to hide. “I believe we’re almost—”

“What did they mean?”

The words were intentional this time, even though they came out broken and too loud and he forgot to sign along. Everyone stared at him, even Sans and Papyrus, and Wingdings felt his hands trembling as he brought them up to sign.

“What did they mean, another skeleton?” he asked again, and though he tried his best to sound reasonable, to sound calm, his growing panic slipped through. “There are lots of skeletons. Why would they be surprised to see one?”

Sans and Papyrus looked at each other, but said nothing. Undyne pursed her lips, and Alphys and Frisk stared at the ground like they didn’t know what to say.

The Queen held his gaze, her face almost even, but he could still make out the gleam of old pain in her eyes.

But … there was no reason for it to be pain. There wasn’t. There …

“Are … are there no other skeletons in this village?” he went on, and yes, yes that had to be it, that was a perfectly logical explanation and it was the only one that made sense. Still, no one spoke, and Sans and Papyrus refused to meet his eyes. “Why do you two live here then? If … there are no …”

Silence. His own breathing felt like gusts of wind blowing back and forth.

No one else would look at him either now. Even the Queen’s eyes had fallen to the ground. She looked … conflicted, like she was trying to think of something to say. But that wasn’t hard. It wasn’t hard at all. All she had to do was answer his question. It was an easy question. It wasn’t that strange if no skeletons lived in this village. Most skeletons used to live in one place, with their own ruler, but they had spread out now, so … so …

She should have told him it was a coincidence. That Sans and Papyrus had moved here for some reason or another and they just happened to be the only skeletons here. It was simple. It was so _simple,_ so why wouldn’t any of them—

“Why aren’t you with the King?”

The Queen took a few seconds to realize he was speaking to her, and by then he wished he could tug his words back into his mouth and shove them deep down his throat. But then he saw her face, her wide, startled eyes, and that wish vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Why would she look like that if she was just on a trip?

Why would she look like that if it was a simple answer?

Why would she look like that if … if he was right, if he had figured it out, if he was …

Wingdings swallowed again, and it felt like marbles being forced down his throat.

“You … you live with the King,” he said, his signs even shakier than his voice. “I know you do, I’ve seen you both, you live in _my_ village, you don’t … there are skeletons where you live! I know there are! Why are you … you’re teasing me!”

The Queen blinked, her brow furrowed like she didn’t understand him. But the idea settled in, far quicker than any of the others, and Wingdings nodded to himself, like the motion of his head would force it to be true.

“You’re … this is a joke. You … you’re all playing a joke on me, right? Did you tell them all to hide? Did you … did you tell my parents not to come get me and pretend you were trying to help me? Why? Y-you …”

His voice cracked, and he swallowed one more time, two more times, three. Everyone kept staring at him, silent, frozen, like they thought that if they so much as breathed too loudly he would shatter.

But everything was already far, _far_ too loud, it was strange and it didn’t make sense and he didn’t care about learning about it anymore, he just wanted to go _home._

He just wanted … he wanted his—

“Where are they? Where are the other skeletons? Tell them to come out!” he shouted, and his voice cracked every other word and his hands wouldn’t move but he didn’t care, he didn’t _care,_ he had to find—“My parents. Go get my parents. Please, Your Majesty, just … just go get them!”

The Queen’s mouth fell open, and her jaw worked for several seconds, silent, _useless,_ as she shook her head.

“I … I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“he wants us to go get his parents,” Sans cut in, his voice quiet and even but piercing, making everyone else go silent as they turned to look at him, just for a second. Then they turned back to Wingdings, and Wingdings stared at them, his whole body trembling, his good eye pleading with all he had.

The Queen pursed her lips and squeezed her hands in front of her.

“Wingdings … I … we don’t …”

Her words died out, and she huffed a breath. She looked at Sans again, like he might give a better answer. She looked away after that—the Queen wasn’t the kind of person to get someone else to do a job when she could do it herself—but Sans was already letting out a long, heavy sigh.

Wingdings didn’t think skeletons could throw up, but now he thought he might.

“when you got pulled into that shed … you didn’t just get pulled out of place. you got pulled out of …” Sans started, not looking at him, not looking at anyone, just staring at the ground with dark, empty sockets. He paused, then shook his head. “you’re not in your time anymore, kid. you’re in the future. a … a long time in the future.”

Wingdings had never been so still in all his life.

He looked at Sans, even as Sans refused to look at him. He looked at the Queen, her eyes still on the ground. He looked at everyone else, and they all avoided his eyes like they were scared of what they might find there. Scared of what he might say. Scared that he really might shatter like a glass vase that had been pushed just a little too close to the edge of a table.

Then Wingdings’s fingers twitched, and his teeth gritted so hard he swore he could feel them cracking.

“Why does that matter?!”

All their heads shot up, their eyes wide, bright and heavy, locked on him, and Wingdings pressed his feet into the ground like it might help him stand taller. Like it might help him say the words scrambling around in his head.

It did matter. Of course it mattered, it made a world of difference, but his mind couldn’t even begin to process it right now, and besides, it wasn’t what mattered _most._

What mattered most was … it was … it was still the same thing. Nothing had changed, he knew he was far away from home, he just didn’t know … just because he was further than he expected … if he had gotten here once, he could get back, and besides, besides …

“S-skeletons … live a really long time,” he managed, pulling each word out from deep in his chest. “And my parents are young! And all my siblings! They’re here, they’ve got to be here, just … just take me to them! I don’t care how long it’s been, they’re here, just tell me where they are!”

He clamped his mouth shut before the whine in his throat could slip out. He waited, his eyes flicking back and forth between each of them, waiting for them to tell him, they just needed to—

“kid.”

Wingdings froze, and his eyes flicked back to Sans.

Sans stared at the ground again, his eyelights faint and dull but barely visible. His smile was tight and as small as Wingdings had ever seen it, and he looked much older than Wingdings thought he could be.

“a lot of stuff happened after … before now,” he muttered. His voice sounded old, too, and the words sounded like they were carrying a pile of rocks on their shoulders. Old rocks, filled with stories and facts and history, dusty and rough and incredibly heavy.

Wingdings clenched his toes inside his shoes.

“What stuff?” he asked, and he could hear the whine slipping out. Sans said nothing, and for the briefest of seconds, Wingdings wanted to hit him. “Sans, tell me what happened!”

He didn’t think he had ever shouted so loud in all his life, and part of him cringed at his own rudeness, his boldness, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize, or even regret it. Because Sans wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the ground, his eye sockets dark and empty, his smile as forced and fake as the old woman in his village, whose entire family had died and left her sitting on her porch, alone, smiling away, even though her eyes glowed with pain.

“Sans?!”

“There was a war.”

It took Wingdings a long moment to realize who had spoken, and when he finally turned, the Queen was already looking back at him. He could see her head twitching, her eyes desperate to look anywhere else. But the Queen was widely known to be one of the bravest monsters in his village, and he could see that bravery radiating out of her as she forced herself to meet his eyes.

It took much longer than those first few seconds for her words to start to sink in.

“The relationship between humans and monsters … things got worse, my child. Much, much worse,” the Queen went on, and for the first time he noticed how much older she looked. Not in appearance, she was just as young as he remembered, of course she was, boss monsters didn’t age without children, but her eyes … the tense droop of her shoulders … the way she clenched her hands in front of her like holding them together was the only certainty she had … “I’m … not sure how old you would have been or … how far in your future this happened, but …”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, sucking in a long breath. Then her eyes opened, and he could just make out the shine of the tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“Many, many monsters died in the war. Far more than we were able to count. The skeletons were … on the front lines. They were very brave, but … they all … none of them …”

She didn’t finish, but the words she didn’t say were already echoing in his skull like a shout around an empty cave.

Gone.

Killed.

_Dead._

No. No, they weren’t dead. They were alive, he remembered them alive, they had been in their house, doing … something, it didn’t matter, he never paid much attention, it wasn’t like they paid much attention to him, but they were _alive._ Everyone was alive and healthy and there was no war and the humans …

His parents told him to stay away from humans.

They said that humans were strong. Incredibly strong. Strong enough that they could kill a hundred monsters without …

And there had been talk. Whispers. Older monsters meeting to talk about defenses for the village. To talk about training for battle, just in case.

Just in case.

But that was _just in case,_ it wasn’t … it wasn’t …

It couldn’t …

But he could see the pain reflected in the Queen’s eyes, the pain that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen her in the village, the pain that shone now even behind her brightest smiles, and … and …

“You can send me back.”

The words tumbled out without any thought, just fell from his mouth like water dumped out of a bucket. They came back to him right as they hit everyone else, and he watched their eyes widen. Watched them blink. Clear their throats. Turn their heads so they wouldn’t have to look at him.

Wingdings felt the gaping holes in his hands as he curled them into fists.

“Just … just send me back,” he breathed, far quieter and far more desperate, each word dragged with purpose and intent from somewhere deep in his soul. “I can go back and stop it. They’re not dead yet, there’s no war, just send me back and I can stop everything from happening. I’ll fix it!”

They kept staring at him. He wanted to shout at them to stop, stop staring, stop looking at him with so much pity, he didn’t need it, he didn’t need their pity, he wanted—he needed—

“They’re still alive, let me go back to them!”

They couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let them die, he would stop it, he would fix it, he would save them, he would save _everyone_.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real, none of this made any sense, it hadn’t made sense when he first showed up in that shed and it didn’t make sense now, and if it didn’t make sense, it _couldn’t_ be real. It was a lie, it was a dream, it was all some horrible joke and soon he would open his eyes and wake up in his bed or under a tree where he was reading and his parents would yell at him for getting distracted but he wouldn’t care because they’d be alive and safe and everything would be alright but the Queen just kept looking at him like he was the most painful sight she had seen in years and he couldn’t—

He couldn’t—

The Queen opened her mouth, and Wingdings turned around and ran the other way.

Several voices called after him, the Queen’s first, Papyrus right after that, Frisk just loud enough to hear. Frisk. Frisk the human. Frisk who had said they were his friend, Frisk who had _acted_ like his friend, Frisk who did puzzles with him, Frisk who was one of the same species that had—had—

He turned a corner, and the voices faded with the sound of cars on the road.

He didn’t know where he was running. He didn’t care. He just ran, as far as his legs would take him, even after his bones and magic burned from overuse, he just kept going. It hurt. Everything hurt, his soul felt it was being torn in two.

Like it was cracking, right down the middle.

He kept running, fighting back the pain, fighting back the tears growing in his empty sockets. Fighting back the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.

He didn’t notice he had arrived back at the house until he was slamming into the front door, grabbing the knob and trying to turn it, only to find it locked—of course it was locked, the Queen had locked it, the door was locked and he was outside but he had to get in, he didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong anywhere but he had to get away, get away from all of it, this strange new world that didn’t make any sense at all.

He shook the doorknob one more time before stumbling off the porch and running around the other side of the house, through the wooden fence and into the backyard. He stood there for a moment, frozen again, before his eyes fell on a rock near the edge of the garden, close to the porch. Frisk had showed him that rock. They had opened it up and explained that it wasn’t a real rock, it just looked like a rock, then they reached inside and pulled out a tiny silver key.

Wingdings picked up the rock and yanked it open, the key tumbling onto the grass below.

He turned the key so hard he was afraid it might snap, but the lock clicked open and he didn’t bother to do more than drop the key on the porch before slamming the door shut and running through the house. He tripped on the stairs, once, twice, and again on the landing, and the relief that flooded him when he finally reached his room—no, the guest room, the room the Queen had let him borrow, this wasn’t his room, this wasn’t his house, this wasn’t his _world_ —was almost enough to make him collapse.

He slammed the door behind him, and his fingers trembled so hard it took him three tries to lock it.

When he finally heard the click, he slid down the wood into a crumpled mess on the floor, then scooted back until his spine hit the wall.

He tried to breathe, sucking in air in a vain effort to soothe the shaking of his bones or the ache in his chest. But the air seemed to catch in his throat every time he tried to get it down, and he was left just a little more helpless and crushed than before.

And in the silence, in the stillness, there was nothing to keep the Queen’s words from crashing down on top of him.

The war. The war he had missed. The war that had, by the looks of things, been fought and lost a long, long time ago.

The other skeletons, fighting and dying.

His family.

His family was dead.

His parents and his siblings and everyone he had ever loved.

Everyone was dead.

What was the last thing he had said to them? What was the last thing he had done? He had known before, hadn’t he? He had to. But he couldn’t … he tried to remember, he squeezed his eyes shut so tight they hurt and wracked his head but nothing came.

It had been … autumn, right? Or winter. No, it had been spring? No, no, it was … it was …

His fingers dug into his skull, but his mind remained blank.

He couldn’t remember the last he had seen of his village. Of his family. He couldn’t remember what he had been doing. He couldn’t remember if he had been wandering the forest or sitting at home.

He couldn’t remember if he had tried to talk to his parents that day, or if he had slipped past them as fast as he could, trying to hide the book tucked under his shirt. He couldn’t remember if he had eaten breakfast with them, or any of his siblings. He couldn’t remember if he had paused to look at them, to take them in, to memorize every feature on their faces just in case he lost them.

But he knew that he hadn’t.

He never did.

And now … he would never …

He opened his mouth to breathe, but the air refused to go down, sticking in his throat like spider webs, making him choke. He squeezed his arms, hugged them close to his body, shook his head faster and faster until he felt like he would collapse from the world spinning around him. His bones rattled so hard he really thought they might shatter into hundreds of pieces, crumbling into a pile of dust on the ground.

But of course they didn’t.

He didn’t crack. He didn’t shatter. He didn’t break. Even as his world crumbled, even as everything he had ever known, everyone he had ever loved, faded into a world that had been lost years ago, he remained.

Alive.

Alive when all the other skeletons—all but two—had fought and died long ago.

Knocks sounded at his door until long after the sun had set, but Wingdings never looked up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally forgot to mention last chapter: Wingdings's admiration of Sans is credit to CaitieLou - she gave me the idea and I loved working with it. ;)
> 
> Heads up that the next chapter may not come for a few weeks - Randomcat1832 is COMING TO VISIT ME next Saturday for a little over a week, so I will be quite busy and may not have time to edit/post. I look forward to seeing you all again then!
> 
> In the meantime, hope you enjoy! <3

“He hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

Papyrus was pretty sure that Lady Toriel was talking to herself, not to him. She was staring at the counter, at the untouched plate of food she had left upstairs two hours before, and her voice was barely more than a murmur. But he was in the kitchen with her, and she knew she wasn’t alone, so he still lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

She turned her head long enough to smile, but it didn’t last more than a second.

“I don’t know what to do,” she went on, still more to herself than to him. He had never heard her sound so helpless. Toriel had always seemed so impossibly strong. He knew she had suffered things he would never understand, and he knew there was a lot more behind her paranoid concern for Frisk than she talked about. But usually, she did her best to hide it.

Maybe that was a good thing. Even if it hurt to watch.

She sighed and shook her head.

“I shouldn’t have told him. I should have made something up, found another excuse, no child should ever have to face something like this all at once, it’s too much, I should have … I should …”

Her mouth hung open for a few seconds, then fell shut. She hung her head and stared at the floor. She was tall, big and fluffy and strong, but now she just looked old. Old and pained and overwhelmed and filled with the guilt of everyone she had failed to save before.

Papyrus wished he could tell her that it wasn’t her fault—that it wasn’t her job to save everyone. But there was too much he hadn’t been there to see, too much he didn’t really understand, and he knew that the words would mean very little coming from him.

His hand stayed on her shoulder, though, squeezing every few seconds, as if to remind her that she wasn’t alone. That he would help her. All of them would help her.

She had been alone for a very, very long time, but no matter what happened from now on, she would have her family.

Slowly, Toriel reached up and patted his hand. Then she took a deep breath and turned around to face him.

“I’m sorry, Papyrus,” she said, sounding just as old and tired, but a tiny bit stronger. “I’m just … very concerned.”

“YOU DON’T NEED TO APOLOGIZE,” he replied, even though he knew she wouldn’t believe him. “I THINK … I THINK WE’RE ALL VERY CONCERNED RIGHT NOW.”

Her lips twitched in what was almost a smile, if it hadn’t been so small and brief. She opened her mouth, like she might say something else, but the words died before they could come out. She looked back at the plate of food she had set on the counter, then lifted it up and carried it to the fridge to put away. Maybe she would try again later. She usually did.

Papyrus stayed in the kitchen after Toriel disappeared, breathing in the now-familiar scent of the house and trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. He looked at the table, where Wingdings had eaten with them, and the couch, where they had sat while they worked on puzzles. He found himself walking toward it without realizing, then toward the stairs, looking around and imagining every place Wingdings had been.

He was concerned, too. Just like everyone else.

All of them had tried to get Wingdings to come out. Papyrus had gone first, then Toriel, then Frisk. Alphys had been more hesitant, but she had done her best, and Undyne had been right at her heels, switching back and forth between light threats and gentler pleas.

All of them had tried as hard as they could, over and over, clinging to hope despite no sign that it was paying off.

All of them, except Sans.

Sans had gone into his room as soon as they got home, closed the door, and not come out until the next day.

No one worried whether he was eating, though. He had come down for meals, even if he was silent during the entire meal, and Papyrus knew he kept a stash of snacks in his room and at his various jobs. He had gone back to his room right after dinner today and stayed there while Toriel went to Wingdings’s door and pleaded with him to eat. The plates she had left for dinner, breakfast and lunch over the past day had all been ignored, and none of them were all that surprised when he ignored this plate, too.

Papyrus didn’t know how long a skeleton could go without eating. He knew that they would break down the door long before it came to that, but he would rather avoid that, if he could.

Wingdings had been forced into far too many things lately. Papyrus hoped he would at least eat of his own free will.

He walked to his door once he reached the second floor, pausing in front of it and pressing the side of his skull to the wood. It took a minute, and the sound was extremely faint, but he could just make out breathing inside, and if he focused a little longer, he could feel the thrum of a now-familiar soul.

He was alive. That was all he could say for now, but he tried to believe it was enough.

He had planned to go to his own room next—maybe stand by his window and try to think of a good next step—but instead he found himself in front of Sans’s door. There were no unexplainable flames here like there had been in their old house—Sans had never said why, or where the flames had come from in the first place, but Papyrus got the feeling that Toriel wouldn’t have been happy with fire in her house. Even if it didn’t burn anyone, and even if it disappeared as soon as you went in the room.

Papyrus didn’t bother knocking. He knew it was polite, and with everyone else he considered manners very important. But he had learned long ago that if Sans didn’t want someone coming in, he would just lock the door, and when Papyrus turned the knob now, the door opened without a problem.

Sans sat on his bed—his _actual_ bed, not just a mattress on the floor, which Papyrus was always glad to see—with a book in his hands that he didn’t seem to be reading. He glanced up when Papyrus stepped in and gave him a slightly wider smile, but it was tight and forced and gone as quickly as it had appeared. Papyrus didn’t even try to smile in return. He pushed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his arms wrapped around himself like he had seen Wingdings do many times before.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, Sans pretending to read and Papyrus staring at the floor, before the tension in the air grew too much to bear, and Papyrus huffed all of it out in a long sigh.

“I’M WORRIED, SANS.”

Sans looked up from the book and closed it without bothering to mark the page.

“about the kid?” he asked, though he seemed to already know the answer.

Papyrus clenched his teeth.

“ABOUT WINGDINGS, YES.” He knew that Sans sometimes preferred nicknames over real names, but it … bothered him that he seemed reluctant to use Wingdings’s name even once. Like it put more distance between them. Distance that Sans didn’t want to close. Papyrus sighed again and shook his head. “EVEN LADY TORIEL CANNOT GET HIM TO COME OUT OF HIS ROOM, AND SHE IS A MASTER AT MAKING OTHERS FEEL BETTER! ALMOST AS GOOD AS I AM! AND I AM EQUALLY HELPLESS!”

Sans kept one hand on the book in his lap, like he was clinging to it. Like it weighed him down, kept him from drifting off into whatever thoughts were flying around his head. His face was blanker than Papyrus had seen it in a long time, and for once, he couldn’t even begin to read it.

“you really care about him, don’t you,” Sans said, slowly, quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“OF COURSE I DO,” Papyrus replied, frowning despite himself. “WHY? IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH THAT?”

Sans huffed a sigh and looked down at the book. He stared at the cover—some sort of science fiction novel—but didn’t look like he really saw it. He ran a finger over the oversized title and the outline of the people on the front.

“there’s nothing wrong with you caring about him, bro. that’s who you are. you care about people.”

He sounded tired when he said it, frustrated, but not at Papyrus. He didn’t seem to know what he was frustrated at. His fingers paused on the book and wrapped around the edges of it, his smile tighter than before.

“but … you might not want to get so attached,” he went on, very slowly. “he can’t say with …”

He trailed off, but Papyrus’s browbone had already lowered before the words were finished leaving his mouth.

“WITH WHO? WITH US?” he asked with more bite than he had intended, almost regretting it when he saw Sans flinch. “WHY CAN’T HE STAY WITH US, SANS? YOU SAID IT YOURSELF. THIS ISN’T HIS TIME. HE DOESN’T HAVE ANYWHERE ELSE TO GO.”

Sans huffed and shook his head, but still wouldn’t look up. “he doesn’t belong here.”

“WHY NOT?” Papyrus blurted out, before he could think of something better to say. Before Sans’s words had even fully sunk into his head. “BECAUSE HE CAME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE?”

Sans didn’t reply. Papyrus set his mouth into a thin line.

“SO DID WE.”

“that’s different,” Sans muttered, jerking his head to the side.

“HOW?” Papyrus pressed, a tension building more in his chest with each second that passed. “JUST BECAUSE WE DIDN’T COME FROM ANOTHER TIME?”

Sans started to speak, then paused, closing his eyes in frustration.

“we belong here, bro.”

Papyrus could feel the line of his mouth trembling.

“DO WE?” he asked, with none of the old desperation that had once filled him at the same question. “WE’RE DIFFERENT FROM OTHER MONSTERS, SANS. WE ALWAYS HAVE BEEN. AND WE’RE STILL DIFFERENT BUT AT LEAST NOW WE’RE NOT THE ONLY SKELETONS.”

Sans looked up at him, a crease in the center of his browbone.

“so you want to keep him here because he’s a skeleton?”

“NO!” Papyrus all but shouted, so loud the whole house probably heard him, but he didn’t care, he didn’t _care._ “I WANT TO KEEP HIM HERE BECAUSE HE DOESN’T HAVE ANYWHERE ELSE TO GO. BECAUSE … BECAUSE I LIKE HIM AND I FEEL LIKE I KNOW HIM EVEN THOUGH I DON’T AND HE LIKES ME AND IT FEELS LIKE … IT FEELS LIKE IT’S ALL I’VE EVER WANTED. FOR HIM TO CARE ABOUT ME LIKE I CARE ABOUT HIM.”

Sans stared, eyelights blown wide, smile tense. Papyrus breathed for a few seconds, letting the silence settle, before he sighed again and hung his head.

“I KNOW IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.”

Again, Sans said nothing. He didn’t seem to know what to say. He looked down at the book again, then the bed, then his window, the curtains pulled almost shut, like he had been hiding away here since they came home yesterday. He was quiet for a long, long time, before his shoulders finally slumped and he let out a long breath.

“i just … i don’t think he’ll want to stay with us forever,” he said, much more gently than before. “if we find a way to send him back—”

“IS THERE A WAY?” Papyrus cut in, head snapping up.

Sans curled himself a little closer toward the back of the bed, like Wingdings when he was trying to make himself smaller.

“… i don’t know.”

Papyrus wasn’t mad. He couldn’t have even made himself be mad if he wanted to be. Sans was lazy, yes, but Papyrus knew he tried his best when it mattered. He knew that if there was a way, he would say so.

He just didn’t want to give anyone false hope.

Papyrus paused for a few seconds, letting his thoughts settle in his vaguely-aching skull.

“DID YOU MEAN FOR YOUR MACHINE TO BRING SOMEONE HERE FROM ANOTHER TIME?”

Sans curled up a little further. “… no.”

Papyrus waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, of course. So Papyrus stood up a little taller and tilted his head.

“THEN WHAT WAS IT MEANT TO DO, SANS?”

Sans winced, even though he must have been expecting the question. He looked so small, so young, that it was nearly impossible to believe he could have built something that would tear a helpless child away from their home.

“it was supposed to … bring back someone else.”

And of course he wouldn’t.

Not on purpose.

Sans never put that much work into something that didn’t matter. Something that didn’t mean the world. Something that wasn’t one of the most important questions they had never had answers. The most important thing they had lost.

“YOU WERE TRYING TO FIND THEM.”

The words were out of his mouth almost as soon as the thought hit his head. Sans didn’t look up, didn’t let Papyrus read his eyes, but it wasn’t necessary. Papyrus didn’t need confirmation, and even if Sans had tried to deny it, he never would have believed him.

He knew. Just as he should have known from the very beginning.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU’VE BEEN TRYING TO DO, ALL THIS TIME,” he went on, speaking even as the pieces clicked into place in his head.

Sans’s smile tensed further, but still, he said nothing. Papyrus felt like he had seen him like this before, many times, curled up tight with frustration rolling off him in waves, so small and helpless in a terrifying world he couldn’t control.

Except … the world wasn’t terrifying. At least not now. They were together. They were on the surface.

They were safe.

And there was someone else here, far more scared than they could remember being.

Papyrus breathed out another long sigh.

“WINGDINGS ISN’T OUR PARENT, BUT … I STILL THINK WE’RE RESPONSIBLE FOR HIM. WE BROUGHT HIM HERE. SO IT’S OUR JOB TO MAKE SURE HE’S SAFE. AND HAPPY. OR … AS HAPPY AS HE CAN BE.”

Sans didn’t look at him, but Papyrus knew he was listening. He was always listening to him. Even when he was quiet. Even if he seemed distracted. He had always acted as if Papyrus was the most important person in the world—and, sometimes, the only one that mattered.

“I REMEMBER HOW IT FELT TO NOT HAVE ANYONE. TO NOT HAVE ANYWHERE TO GO BACK TO. A FAMILY. A PLACE WHERE … I BELONGED,” Papyrus went on, and he watched Sans fight the urge to meet his eyes. His shoulders fell, just a little, even as he tried to hold himself taller. “AND I DON’T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO FEEL LIKE THAT EITHER.”

Sans glanced up, long enough for their eyes to connect and a million thoughts to pass between them, thrumming like the beat of their souls.

Then, before Sans could think of speaking, Papyrus turned and walked out of the room.

He didn’t bother to close the door behind him. He knew Sans would do it if he wanted. He didn’t realize where he was going until he was already in the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for the plate Toriel had put away only a little while ago, after it was left untouched. He started to bring it the microwave, then paused and put it back, pulling out another plate instead. The one with the leftover waffles he had made this morning, sitting limp and cold in the back of the fridge. He stuck it in the microwave for fifty seconds before he pulled it out and adorned it with toppings, then carried it up the stairs, only stopping when he stood right in front of Wingdings’s door.

And he realized, at last, what his subconscious mind had been doing.

He paused, took a deep breath, and lifted one hand to knock.

“WINGDINGS?”

His voice was quieter than usual, but it rang out in the silence of the hall. No answer, of course. Papyrus couldn’t even hear the breathing.

“IT’S ME. PAPYRUS,” he said, though he didn’t think Wingdings could mistake his voice. Still nothing. Papyrus set his teeth in a pained line. “I KNOW YOU DON’T WANT TO OPEN THE DOOR. I KNOW THAT YOU ARE … VERY UPSET, AND THAT IS … VERY UNDERSTANDABLE. I KNOW I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE GOING THROUGH, BUT … I WANT TO HELP. IF YOU’LL LET ME.”

No response. Papyrus wasn’t even surprised at this point. He listened for a moment longer, and caught the same faint hum of a soul that proved to him that there was someone inside to hear him.

He glanced down at the plate in his hand, then held it up, like Wingdings could see it.

“I BROUGHT SOME WAFFLES. YOU SEEMED TO LIKE THEM YOUR FIRST MORNING HERE, SO I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO EAT THEM NOW.”

Silence. It was almost like a noise in itself, it was so tense and heavy. Or maybe that was just Papyrus’s own mind, filling in the gaps.

He cleared his throat and looked back down at the plate.

“I’LL … LEAVE THEM OUT HERE FOR YOU. I HOPE YOU EAT THEM. I WASN’T SURE WHAT TOPPINGS YOU WANTED, SO I JUST PUT THEM ALL.”

Wingdings seemed to like sweet foods, from what he had seen. Papyrus could only hope that he had been right in that assumption.

He set the plate down, then started back down the hall, but he hadn’t made it more than five feet before he heard the faint squeak of the door pulling open.

He turned around.

Wingdings stared back at him from the crack in the door, glancing down at the plate at his feet before meeting Papyrus’s eyes, as nervous as he had been his first night here.

“You can … come in,” he muttered, quiet enough that no one else would be able to hear them. “If you want.”

Papyrus stared back at him, then smiled and turned back toward the room.

Wingdings tried to eat slowly at first, but his hunger was obvious, and within a minute he was shoving bites into his mouth every few seconds, barely taking the time to chew. In five minutes, the place was empty, nothing but sparse crumbs remaining, and Wingdings sat on the bed, hands in his lap and face faintly flushed, staring at the bed as Papyrus set the empty plate on the nightstand and returned to sit in front of them.

Papyrus waited for what felt like a very long time, and Wingdings kept staring down, his limbs held close to his body, like he thought he could disappear if he curled up tight enough. Papyrus wanted to hold him, like he held Sans on his bad days, but he forced his hands to stay at his sides. He got the feeling Wingdings didn’t want to be touched. Not right now.

He almost jumped when Wingdings finally let out a long, soft sigh, ducking his head lower and wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug.

“I’m sorry.”

It was hardly more than a whisper, but in the painful silence of the room, it might as well have been a gong.

Papyrus frowned and tilted his head.

“FOR WHAT?”

Wingdings swallowed hard and fidgeted, his arms tightening. “For … running away.”

He was shaking. His bones weren’t rattling yet, but Papyrus could hear the faint clicking that would definitely turn into rattling soon. Again, he fought the urge to pull Wingdings into a hug. He pressed his teeth together, searching for a long moment to make sure he had the right words.

“I’M NOT MAD. NONE OF US ARE MAD.”

Wingdings froze and peeked up, just long enough for Papyrus to flash him a reassuring smile. Then he looked down again, and Papyrus had to fight to keep the smile on his face.

“WE WERE WORRIED,” he went on, making sure to keep all blame, all judgment, out of his voice. “WE WERE AFRAID YOU WOULDN’T COME OUT AND … WOULD GET HURT FROM NOT EATING.”

A faint whine slipped through Wingdings’s clenched teeth, and he curled up even further. “I’m sorry.”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO APOLOGIZE,” Papyrus said. He meant it, and he hoped Wingdings could tell.

Silence fell over them again, broken only by their out-of-sync breaths and the occasional ruffle of Wingdings’s clothes as he shifted on the bed. Undyne had said once that Papyrus was the most patient monster she had ever met, and Papyrus did his best to live up to that title now. Wingdings needed patience. He needed kindness. He needed … well, he needed a lot of things that Papyrus couldn’t give him, but patience and kindness, he could give as long as it was needed.

Wingdings glanced up at him a few times, searching his face for something Papyrus couldn’t name, but he always looked away again a few seconds later, as if afraid of what he would find. He ground his teeth together, and Papyrus tried not to wince at the sound. It made him feel … he didn’t know what. He just knew he didn’t like it.

“Was it true?” Wingdings asked at last, keeping his eyes on the bed. “What Sans said.”

Papyrus’s shoulders fell, and even though Wingdings didn’t look up, Papyrus could still see the hope shining in his good eye. There wasn’t very much, and Papyrus wondered how many bad things this child had already gone through to make him so hesitant to hope for something good. He wondered if there would ever be a right time to ask.

He sighed, very quietly, and watched that hope begin to die.

“I DON’T THINK SANS WOULD LIE ABOUT THAT.”

Wingdings swallowed again and still kept his eyes down. His tiny hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt.

“And … and what the Queen said?” he asked, a little louder, the last of his hope straining in his voice, mixed in with growing despair. Papyrus opened his mouth, but couldn’t find a good answer. Wingdings glanced up again, and his eyes locked on Papyrus for a long few seconds. “But … but you’re here. You and Sans. If there weren’t any other skeletons, then how …”

He trailed off, holding Papyrus’s gaze for only a second longer before he dropped it. Papyrus wasn’t sure whether he could see what was going on inside his head. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure himself. He never had been, and he was beginning to think he never would.

“WE … AREN’T REALLY SURE,” he said at last, after trying and failing to find a better answer. “SANS AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHERE WE CAME FROM FOR A VERY LONG TIME.”

Wingdings fidgeted again. He gripped his shirt instead of his arms now, and he squeezed so tight Papyrus could see his hands shaking.

“So … you didn’t … you never knew any other …”

He trailed off, mouth still open like he thought the words might come. Papyrus pressed his teeth together to muffle the sigh in his throat.

“NO,” he replied, very quietly. “NOT UNTIL YOU.”

Wingdings winced. “I don’t count.”

Papyrus furrowed his browbone and actively fought to stop himself from laying a hand on Wingdings’s shoulder.

“YOU’RE A SKELETON. SO YOU COUNT.”

But Wingdings just shook his head, slowly at first, then a little faster, the bones in his hands beginning to rattle.

“No, I … I don’t count, I don’t _belong_ here, I’m not supposed to be here, I belong in … I belong back then, before the w-war, before all of this, I shouldn’t … why did you bring me here? Why am I here?” He jerked his head up to meet Papyrus’s eyes, his own wide and glowing, the pale yellow somehow soothing despite the pain on his face. His whole body rattled now, and Papyrus swore he could feel his soul twisting. “You can still send me back, right? I … I don’t care what happens later on, things were fine when I left. If you brought me here, you can send me back, right?”

Papyrus’s hands clenched against the bones of his legs, and now he was the one whose eyes fell down to the bed.

I DON’T KNOW.”

“Why do you mean you don’t know?!” Wingdings shouted, so loud it almost made Papyrus jump. “You brought someone here and you don’t know how to send them back?!”

Papyrus looked up just in time to see the anger turn to horror. Wingdings made a faint whine in the back of his throat and ducked his head, arms tight around his tiny body.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know—”

“NO. IT’S OKAY. IT’S OKAY TO BE ANGRY,” Papyrus cut him off, and to his relief, Wingdings went silent, and peeked up at him with his one good eye. Papyrus tried to imagine what might have happened to break his other. He didn’t seem surprised by it like he had the cracks in his face or the holes in his hands, so Papyrus was pretty sure it had been there for a while, but still … “I THINK A LOT OF PEOPLE WOULD BE ANGRY IF THIS HAPPENED TO THEM.”

Wingdings dropped his eyes again and pulled his legs close to his torso, pressing his face into his knees.

“I just want to go home,” he muttered, more to himself than to Papyrus. His bones rattled faintly, and Papyrus could hear the tears in his throat. “I just … why did you bring me here? Why …?”

His words trailed into silence, but Papyrus gave him a few seconds before he realized that he wasn’t going to say anything else.

He sighed and tried not to be shocked by how old his own voice sounded.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT,” he said, and it felt like an excuse—a bad excuse—even if it was true. “SANS WAS LOOKING FOR SOMEONE ELSE.”

Wingdings flicked his eyes up, frowning.

“Who?”

There was no anger there anymore. Just sadness, and a bit of curiosity poking through despite his clear efforts to hide it.

Papyrus swallowed again.

“OUR FAMILY,” he replied. “THE PEOPLE WHO MADE US.”

Wingdings shoulders dropped, and he almost looked guilty.

“But you found me instead,” he murmured.

The sadness was still there. The grief, steadily growing as he realized the intensity of his loss. He looked so young, and he never should have sounded so old.

“YES,” Papyrus said, his hand starting to lift from his lap before he caught it and dropped it back down. “IF THERE’S ANY WAY WE CAN SEND YOU BACK, WINGDINGS … WE’LL FIND IT. SANS WILL DO HIS BEST, AND IF HE CAN GET YOU HERE …”

He did his best to sound hopeful, but Wingdings’s eyes were locked on the bed again, the grief pushing down on him like ten feet of water. The rest of the words died in his throat, just as Wingdings let out a quiet sigh.

“He doesn’t know how to send me back, does he?” he murmured. It sounded like a question, but Papyrus knew it wasn’t. Wingdings pressed his teeth together and shook his head. “He … he doesn’t even know if it’s possible.”

Papyrus paused again, searching his head for the right response. “HE DIDN’T KNOW IF IT WAS POSSIBLE TO BRING YOU HERE, EITHER.”

“But he wasn’t _trying_ to bring me here. He was trying to bring … someone else,” Wingdings replied, before Papyrus could even think of continuing with his argument. “It was an accident. And it’s much harder to reproduce accidents.”

He sounded like Alphys in the midst of one of her experiments. She still enjoyed them on occasion, especially when she realized a gap in humanity’s scientific knowledge. She always found them worthwhile, but she got frustrated easily, and would go on long rants at dinner that only Sans really understood.

Alphys had a lot of bad experience that had frustrated her over the years, and Papyrus wondered what kind of experience Wingdings could have in his short life that would lead to the same.

“MAYBE IT IS,” he admitted. “IT MIGHT TAKE LONGER. IT MIGHT BE DIFFICULT. BUT SANS IS SMART, AND THIS TIME HE HAS ALL OF US TO HELP HIM. WE’LL FIND A WAY TO GET YOU BACK.”

He expected Wingdings to argue, but no argument came. Their breaths sounded like gusts of wind in the otherwise empty room, and Papyrus listened to the faint sound of people bustling around downstairs. It was movie night. He had almost forgotten.

“Do you know … when it happens?”

Wingdings’s voice was barely loud enough to hear, but it shattered the silence even easier than their breaths. Papyrus perked up.

“WHEN WHAT HAPPENS?”

Wingdings opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed. “The war.”

The word sounded unfamiliar in his voice. Of course, Papyrus had never heard him say it before, but it sounded like Wingdings found it just as unfamiliar. There had been a lot of human wars since the one between monsters and humans, apparently, but Papyrus had never asked whether there were any wars for monsters before it. He didn’t know how unfamiliar the concept would be to someone who had lived such a long time ago.

“… NO,” he said, rubbing one of his hands over the other in his lap and trying not to look as helpless as he felt. “I WASN’T ALIVE THEN, AND … I DON’T KNOW A LOT ABOUT MONSTER HISTORY.”

Maybe he really should read those books Toriel had put on the shelves of their home library. It all sounded very sad, and he normally wasn’t interested in reading sad things, but maybe it was important enough to be worth it.

He wondered what Wingdings would think if he found them there, tucked away on the top shelf.

Wingdings fidgeted, and the mattress creaked beneath him.

“If I tell the Queen the year it was when I … do you think she could tell me how far away it is?”

Papyrus wanted to lie. He wanted to tell him no, so that he wouldn’t ask, he wouldn’t know, he wouldn’t have all that weight on his tiny shoulders. But Papyrus didn’t like lying, even to someone who had already been crushed by the truth.

“I THINK SO.”

Wingdings nodded, almost mechanically. He glanced up at Papyrus for one long second, then looked down again.

“But it won’t matter,” he muttered, and Papyrus could practically see him sinking under all that weight. “It’s going to happen. It’s … it’s already happened. If it’s already happened, how can I change it?”

He wrung his hands, then gripped the hem of his shirt, rolling the fabric around in his fingers.

“And even if I could, I … no one would listen to me. No one ever listens to me. How am I supposed to stop an entire _war_?” The rattling in his bones started up again, louder than before, and though he gritted his teeth, a faint whimper slipped past his throat. “I always said that humans and monsters could be friends, but … but I was _wrong_ and now everyone’s going to die—”

“NO,” Papyrus cut him off, leaving Wingdings with his mouth open and his good eye wide. Papyrus froze, letting his mind catch up to the words that had already started to form in his mouth. “NO, YOU … YOU WEREN’T WRONG.”

Wingdings blinked, but said nothing. Papyrus swallowed and squeezed his hands together in his lap, holding himself as tall as he could, his voice assured without him even having to try.

“HUMANS AND MONSTERS _CAN_ BE FRIENDS. YOU WERE RIGHT. IT … IT TOOK A LONG TIME AND THINGS ARE STILL BAD SOMETIMES BUT IT’S WORKING. IT’S GETTING BETTER. FRISK GOT US ALL OUT OF THE UNDERGROUND AND NOW THEY’RE HELPING US BE PART OF THE HUMAN WORLD. OUR WORLD. _ALL_ OUR WORLD. THE ONE WE’RE BUILDING TOGETHER.”

Again, Wingdings was silent. Papyrus let himself sag a little, though his chest still warmed from his own words. He believed them. He had always believed them, and he still did.

It was hard. Sometimes it felt like things wouldn’t ever get better.

But they had already gotten better—so, so much better—and he knew it was only a matter of time before they truly found peace.

“What’s the Underground?” Wingdings asked, and the question came so out of the blue that it took Papyrus a second to realize Wingdings had really spoken it.

He frowned. “HM?”

“The Underground. I keep hearing people talk about it … like … like they used to live there,” Wingdings went on, glancing back and forth between Papyrus and his own hands. “What is it?”

Papyrus paused again. It felt like such an enormous question, linked to a hundred other questions he didn’t know how to answer. But it was also simple, and he opened his mouth even as his mind worked on the questions Wingdings hadn’t yet asked.

“IT WAS … WELL. IT WAS WHERE WE LIVED. WHERE I LIVED. WHERE ALL OF US LIVED FOR A VERY LONG TIME.”

“What was it? A town?”

Papyrus looked out the window. It was almost dark outside, and you couldn’t see the mountain from the window anyway, but it was easy to imagine.

“IT WAS … UNDERGROUND. A BUNCH OF SPACE UNDER THE MOUNTAIN.”

“Under Mt. Ebbot?” Wingdings repeated, and it struck Papyrus that this might have been the first time Wingdings realized how close he was to his home. In one sense, anyway. Wingdings’s browbone scrunched up almost painfully hard. “But … why would you …?”

Papyrus wished Toriel was here to help with this part. Or Undyne. Or Alphys. Sometimes it seemed like everyone understood more about the war than he did. But he was the one that was here, and Wingdings was asking him. So he would do his best.

“THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE WAR,” he said. “THE HUMANS … DIDN’T LIKE US THEN, AND THEY MADE US LIVE UNDERGROUND, AND WE COULDN’T OUT WITHOUT BREAKING A MAGICAL BARRIER THEY PUT UP TO KEEP US INSIDE.”

Wingdings’s good eye got so wide it looked like it hurt. His whole body froze, and he stopped breathing. Papyrus cleared his throat and tried to smile, even though it came out shaky at best.

“BUT THE BARRIER IS BROKEN NOW, THANKS TO FRISK, AND OF COURSE MY OWN WONDERFUL CONTRIBUTIONS, AND WE ARE ALL SAFE ON THE SURFACE!”

“How long?” Wingdings asked, like Papyrus’s last words had gone right over his head. And in this state of mind, maybe they had. “How long have you been up here? Free?”

He sounded desperate, like knowing this would somehow make a difference for him, even though Papyrus knew it wouldn’t. Then again, if he had the chance to learn more about his own forgotten life, he probably would have jumped at the chance, too.

“A LITTLE MORE THAN A YEAR,” Papyrus replied, because that, at least, he knew the answer to.

He didn’t think that Wingdings’s eye could get any wider, but apparently he was wrong. His good socket was gaping and dark, like Sans’s when his eyelights went out, when he looked like the world was collapsing around him and all he could do was stand there and stare.

“So … you were underground, all that time,” he said, his voice quiet and even. “Everyone.”

“… YES.”

“Under a mountain. For … how long has it been? How long since the war?”

It sounded like the most important question he had ever asked. More important than his displacement in time, more important than the war he had missed. Maybe even more important than the family he had lost.

“I … AM NOT COMPLETELY SURE,” Papyrus admitted, when he realized that a better answer wasn’t going to come to him—at least not before Wingdings got too desperate to wait any longer. “BUT IT HAS BEEN … A FEW HUNDRED YEARS, AT LEAST. MAYBE MORE.”

Wingdings’s breath caught in his throat, and he held it for a few seconds before it slipped out, slow and quiet.

“And you were trapped,” he repeated, like he was engraving the fact into his skull. Like he couldn’t believe it until he had said it out loud. “Everyone was trapped.”

Honestly, Papyrus had never felt very trapped in the Underground. Of course, he had had dreams of driving a car around the surface, and it had made him sad that he might never get to do it, but he had plenty of other dreams. It didn’t weigh on him like he knew it had weighed on some of the others. The ones whose lives weren’t so great. The ones who were old enough to have seen the surface and know what they were missing.

He tried to imagine what it would be like now, being shoved back Underground after seeing all of this. How much he would miss it. His job at the human gym. Getting to know so many new friends. The fresh air. The sunlight.

More freedom than he had ever imagined, torn away after only a year.

“I should have done something.”

Papyrus blinked and looked up, only to find Wingdings staring very intently at the bed, his browbone furrowed so deep it looked like it might crack his skull. He started to open his mouth to ask what he meant, but Wingdings was already looking up, almost as desperate as before.

“I lived, didn’t I? Or … I think I lived? I don’t know why … why the Queen wouldn’t remember me if I …” He paused, then shook his head. “But if I lived, why didn’t I try to figure out how to get everyone out? I always said I wanted to be scientist and help people, but I didn’t help anyone at all!”

It sounded so strange, coming from someone so small. Papyrus could almost see the responsibility he had taken on so suddenly, like a pile of boulders crushing his tiny bones. He hesitated.

“MAYBE YOU DID,” he said, after a long pause. “WE DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT YOU, WINGDINGS. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DID, IF YOU … IF YOU WERE UNDERGROUND WITH US. MAYBE YOU DID A LOT OF GOOD THINGS AND REALLY HELPED US!”

Wingdings huffed and looked down again. “But I didn’t get you out.”

“THAT WASN’T YOUR JOB,” Papyrus cut in, before Wingdings had the chance to go down that train of thought any further. Wingdings glanced at him, but said nothing, and Papyrus deflated, just a little. “WELL, I SUPPOSE I DON’T KNOW FOR SURE WHETHER IT WAS YOUR JOB, BUT EVEN IF IT WAS, I’M SURE IT WASN’T YOUR JOB ALONE! AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN VERY WRONG TO PUT SUCH A TREMENDOUS WEIGHT ON ONE PERSON’S SHOULDERS.”

Honestly, he didn’t understand why it would have to be on Wingdings’s shoulders at all. But then again, Undyne had been so determined to get one more human to help them reach the surface, so … maybe it was like that.

But Undyne was grown up, and had been for as long as he had known her. Wingdings was nine.

Still, he stared at the bed like all the time they had spent Underground was entirely his fault, so Papyrus swallowed his questions and did his best to smile.

“I AM SURE YOU DID THE BEST YOU COULD TO HELP EVERYONE. IF YOU …” He hesitated, then pushed that possibility aside. “I’M SURE YOU DID.”

He didn’t know if they would ever find out whether Wingdings had survived the war. If all the other skeletons had died … then Papyrus knew there was a good chance he did, too.

And an even higher chance that he had died long before they got out.

But … Papyrus and Sans existed. They had been born Underground—they were almost sure of it. And if they had been born Underground, that meant some skeletons had survived, right?

Something poked at the back of Papyrus’s mind, and he had just started to reach for it when Wingdings huffed another breath and snapped Papyrus’s attention back to him.

“But I can’t stop the war,” he said, and it was like the world was collapsing around him, leaving him small and helpless in the middle of it. “Even if I go back, I can’t … how am I supposed to go back when I know what’s going to happen? They’ll never believe me. No one ever believes me. I can’t stop a war. It’s all going to happen again and it’ll be my fault and—”

“NO!”

Wingdings stopped, but it took a very long pause before he lifted his head and met Papyrus’s eyes.

Papyrus pressed his teeth together to keep all the words from bubbling out at once. He paused, breathing in, sorting through all the things he wanted to say until they made a bit of sense. Until Wingdings would hopefully understand them.

“IT WON’T BE YOUR FAULT,” he said, trying to convey the strength of it without shouting. “IT WILL BE NEVER BE YOUR FAULT. YOU DIDN’T START THE WAR, AND YOU DIDN’T KILL THE SKELETONS. SO IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.”

It felt familiar, in a strange way. Like he had said something like this before. Except … he didn’t _remember_ saying something like this before, and he didn’t know who he might have told it to. So he pushed it away.

Or, well, he tried to. Things like that never seemed to want to stay away for long.

Wingdings didn’t look down this time. It looked like it took all of his self-control not to, but he managed it, looking back at Papyrus as intensely as someone a thousand years older.

“The skeletons are gone,” he whispered, like the thought was just settling into his head. “They’re really gone. Aren’t they?”

He still held Papyrus’s gaze, and Papyrus almost wished he would look away. But he didn’t, searching Papyrus’s face for a reaction he wouldn’t be able to hide.

Wingdings swallowed, and the sound carried a gentle rattle through his whole body.

“My parents. My siblings. The other kids I knew. All of them. Except us.”

The words hung in the air like water, dense and heavy, pressing down on both of them. Papyrus felt like he was trying to breathe in dirt.

He swallowed, and it was like rocks going down his throat, without his magic even starting to dissolve them.

“… YES.”

Wingdings nodded, very slowly, very deliberately. He blinked a few times, just as slowly, like he couldn’t make himself move any faster. His hands clenched in his lap, and for the first time Papyrus noticed how he avoided touching the holes, even though they didn’t seem to hurt.

He heard Wingdings swallow, and it sounded like the rocks were going down his throat, too.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” he murmured, blinking again, faster than before. “I don’t know … what to do.”

He blinked a few more times. There were no tears in his good socket, but maybe the blinking was forcing them away. He sucked in a sudden, loud breath, like he had forgotten to do so. Sans did that sometimes, when he was deep in thought. Breathing was one way he calmed himself, since he couldn’t glow with both eyes.

Papyrus was almost sure he had seen Wingdings’s bad eye glow, but …

“What if Sans can’t find a way to get me back?” Wingdings asked, snapping Papyrus out of his thoughts before they could go too far. Papyrus opened his mouth on reflex, ready to tell him that of course they would, they would all help him, they would figure out a way, no matter what.

Then he stopped. And he looked.

Wingdings wasn’t looking for reassurance. He wasn’t looking for promises that Papyrus may or may not have been able to keep.

He was a little scientist, and he wanted the facts.

Papyrus took a deep breath and let it out slow, then reached out and placed a careful hand on the child’s shoulder.

“THEN WE’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU,” he said, so slowly and clearly that there was no way anyone could miss it. “WE’LL MAKE A HOME FOR YOU HERE. WITH US.”

Wingdings said nothing, just stared back at him in silence. His shoulder twitched under Papyrus’s hand, but he didn’t pull away. Papyrus tried to smile, even though he knew it looked sad.

“I KNOW IT DOESN’T MAKE THINGS BETTER. I KNOW WE’RE NEVER GOING TO BE YOUR … YOUR REAL FAMILY. BUT … YOU’LL ALWAYS BE SAFE. AND WANTED. AND LOVED.”

More staring, broken only by increasing blinks, like Wingdings was trying to fight back tears. Papyrus swallowed against the lump in his own throat.

“AND WE’LL NEVER STOP TRYING. WE’LL TRY EVERYTHING WE CAN THINK OF TO GET YOU BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM. BECAUSE EVEN IF WE’RE NOT YOUR REAL FAMILY, WE’RE STILL A FAMILY, AND WE DO WHATEVER WE CAN TO MAKE EACH OTHER HAPPY.”

Wingdings looked for a second longer, then dropped his eyes to the bed. Still, he didn’t pull away, and Papyrus swore that he felt him lean into the touch. He rubbed one of his hands over the other, like he was trying to warm it up, even though all it did was make a soft scraping sound.

Papyrus had caught himself doing that sometimes. It didn’t make sense, but he had always done it anyway, because it felt right.

He had thought he was the only monster who would try to warm up his hands even though he couldn’t feel cold. Apparently he wasn’t.

“Is it lonely?”

Papyrus blinked out of his thoughts just long enough to see Wingdings watching him before his eyes dropped again. He shifted, and though at first he seemed to be pulling away, he moved closer, so Papyrus’s hand lay more steadily on his shoulder.

“You and Sans,” he went on, quietly, like he was scared to ask the question. “Being the only two skeletons left.”

Or maybe he was just afraid of the answer.

Papyrus squeezed his free hand so tight he could feel it trembling, but his other hand remained on Wingdings’s shoulder, gentle, but firm enough to assure him he was still there. Still listening.

“SOMETIMES,” he said, because it was true, and he didn’t like to lie to people. And he didn’t want to lie to someone who had already suffered so much. Wingdings’s little body sagged in his grasp, and Papyrus gripped his shoulder tighter. “BUT NOW WE HAVE THREE SKELETONS, AND I THINK I FEEL A LITTLE LESS LONELY ALREADY.”

Wingdings tensed, like he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He still didn’t look up. Papyrus could feel his breaths, in and out, in and out, shaky and erratic, like he had forgotten how.

One of them hitched, and he ducked his head lower still.

“I miss them,” he murmured, the words tumbling out like they surprised even him. Like he hadn’t let himself consider his own feelings before now. He breathed in again, even shakier, and shook his head. “I never got to say goodbye. I hardly even talked to them. They … they never paid attention to me, and we never got along, so I never thought … I never …”

His hands curled into the fabric of his pants, and he jerked his head up, staring at Papyrus like his last thread of hope, clinging to the edge of a cliff with only a few seconds before it snapped.

“What if I never see them again? What if I never get to tell them I …” He paused, mouth open, then clamped his teeth shut, hands clinging so hard they rattled. “They’ll think I left, or—or died, and I’ll never get to tell them—tell them—”

His voice caught in his throat, and he choked on it for a few seconds, coughing and swallowing and trying to breathe. But when he finally got a bit of air past his teeth and tried to breathe out again, all that either of them heard was a sob.

Then another.

And another after that.

The tears were streaming down his face before Papyrus even saw them form, and Wingdings swiped at his cheekbones, trying to dry them, like maybe Papyrus hadn’t noticed yet and he could still hide it. But the tears kept coming, faster and faster, and every breath he sucked in came back out as a sob a second later.

Papyrus held himself back as long as he could, but looking at him was like looking at his brother, shattering in front of him, and every sob felt like something stabbing into his soul.

Wingdings whimpered and reached up an arm to dry his tears yet again, but this time, Papyrus reached out and pulled him, gently and carefully, against his chest.

He felt him freeze, felt each of his bones stiffen, though not enough to hide their faint rattling. Wingdings breathed against him, tears soaking through his shirt, and Papyrus just sat there, holding him, like it was the most important thing in the world.

And right now, it was.

He waited for Wingdings to pull away. Waited for him to forcefully dry his eyes and duck his head to hide the tears in his sockets. Waited for him to snap out of his shock and insist that he was fine, he didn’t need help, he didn’t want to cause anyone any trouble, he was _fine._

Wingdings breathed in.

Then pressed his face into Papyrus’s shirt and sobbed again.

They came harder, louder, quicker, and Papyrus felt tiny hands clinging to shirt, and all he could do was hold him close and it wasn’t enough but it had to be. He lit up both his eyes as bright as they would go, until the whole room glowed orange, and squeezed his arms as tight as he could without hurting Wingdings. He pressed their skulls together and whispered words even he didn’t understand, and Wingdings cried harder still.

It felt like he cried for both an eternity and a few minutes. Papyrus wasn’t sure there would ever be enough tears to express the grief he swore he could feel crashing over this child. If he could, Papyrus had no doubt Wingdings would have kept sobbing until the world collapsed around them.

But Wingdings was just a child, a small, tired skeleton child, and his energy didn’t last forever. Slowly, his sobs tapered off, turning to hiccups, then whimpers, then almost silent inhales and exhales, the tension in his body slipping away like it had been drawn out through his tears.

Papyrus waited for him to pull away. But he didn’t.

Instead, he curled closer still, tucking his head as close to Papyrus as he could, bringing the rest of his body in until he was cradled like a baby bones in Papyrus’s arms. His tiny hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, his face buried in it, like the world was collapsing around him and all he wanted was for someone strong to keep him safe.

He had said he wasn’t a baby bones. And maybe he wasn’t. But right now, that was what he needed to be.

Papyrus reached up and ran a gentle hand over his skull, brushing his fingers against the bone, and Wingdings let out a tiny sigh and tucked himself closer. His eyes flickered yellow, the glow almost burning into Papyrus’s shirt, mixing with the orange filling the rest of the room. Papyrus moved his other hand to rub up and down his thin spine, like he had done for Sans and Sans had done for him, for far longer than he could remember.

Even when his arms ached from the strain, he stayed. Even when Toriel poked her head into the room to check out them, he stayed. Even when the last remnants of tears faded, and Wingdings lay cuddled in his arms like the child he had apparently never been allowed to be, he stayed.

Papyrus held Wingdings until long after he fell asleep, and when his own eyes grew too tired to hold open, he just rested his head on the side of the bed, clutched Wingdings’s tiny hand in his own, and let himself drift into darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaack! :D
> 
> And here is Chapter 9! Not much to say about this one. Hope you all enjoy! ;)

Sans swore he could feel everyone’s relief, palpable in the air, when Wingdings slipped down the stairs for breakfast the next morning.

No one said anything. Nothing obvious, at least. Toriel put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft, sad smile, and Papyrus grinned at him all through breakfast, more subdued than usual. Undyne even patted him on the back and said she was glad to have him at the table again. But no one addressed the obvious. They handled Wingdings like they might handle a bomb that had just flashed a false alarm, and now they feared it might explode if touched the wrong way.

At this point, Sans would have greatly preferred a bomb to a scared little kid.

But a scared little kid was what he had, and he had learned a long time ago that he had to accept the hand he was dealt.

And the hand he had been dealt was a kid who was about as far from where he belonged as was conceivably possible, a broken machine, and no one but himself to work on getting that kid back home.

And he was trying. Good god, was he trying.

Whether it was desperation to get the kid out of here or just another way to avoid the rest of his makeshift family, trying was all he had been able to do.

He had spent hours going back over his notes, his research, even picking up a few new books on inter-dimensional travel—even though he still wasn’t sure whether this counted as such. He spent an hour or so staring at the machine before just the idea of trying to fix it overwhelmed him and he left it be, at least for the moment. He told himself he would go back to it. He had to, after all. That machine was the only way he could get Wingdings home. And he _had_ to get Wingdings home.

Because if he didn’t go home, he would have to stay here.

And that was … that …

Well, he avoided thinking about that as much as he could.

But avoiding it was getting more and more difficult as the days ticked by.

Because no matter how much he avoided the thought, the fact was that everyone else was slowly accepting it. Maybe they had already accepted it, but that acceptance had settled over the last few days. They had all seen Wingdings for what he was: a little kid yanked out of his time period and faced with the death of everyone he had ever known and loved. And in a house full of people from broken families, friends who had found their way here because this was where they belonged, of course they had decided they would make a new home for him here, too.

No one asked about the machine, about the chances that Sans would be able to send him back. Sans wasn’t sure whether that was because they weren’t interested, didn’t think he would answer, or because he had made a habit of avoiding conversations over the past few days. He could already feel them staring at him, probably wondering why he had kept such a huge secret to himself for so long. Why he hadn’t told them from the beginning. And he didn’t have an answer for them. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it with anyone else, so he hadn’t, and now that decision was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Just like it always did.

And so he did the same thing he had done every time before: he threw himself into his work, into the goal of fixing the problem he had made. He spent even more time than he had on the machine over the last few months. Every minute he wasn’t at one of his jobs, he was in his room, pouring over everything he could find, everything he could think of, everything and anything that might have the tiniest chance of building a machine that could send Wingdings back to his own time.

But he knew from the first minute that it was impossible.

Because it wasn’t as simple as a kid yanked out of his own time period—not that that would have been remotely simple on its own. The marks on Wingdings’s face and hands were all the proof he needed. Those hadn’t been there when he was _really_ a kid, and for a long time after. The drawing didn’t exactly show the details of his hands, but the marks on his face were definitely absent. Sure, the artist might have just … conveniently chosen to leave those out, but somehow Sans doubted it.

However those marks had gotten on his body, they weren’t there during the time period he was supposed to be from. Which meant that even though Wingdings remembered being from a specific time … he wasn’t.

Not completely, at least.

Part of him was an adult. Part of him was the person he had been when he … disappeared.

So even if Sans managed to stick him back in the time he thought he was from, he wouldn’t really belong there. And there was a very good chance that there would be another Wingdings, who really _was_ nine years old, already in his place.

Of course, Wingdings didn’t know that. If Sans really did find a way to send him back to that time, he could just send him through and shut off the machine and … and …

He hated himself only seconds after the thought came into his head, but … it didn’t completely go away.

He just insisted, if only in his own head, that he would never go through with it.

He could almost believe it was true.

If he was discounting that idea … that left him with nothing. What was he going to do, send the kid back into that void? Even in his worst moments, he couldn’t really consider that. He didn’t know much about that other place, but … what he did know didn’t sound pleasant. Even if it was just emptiness, a … space between spaces, it was still torture, being stuck there all alone. No one to talk to. No one to touch. Just … nothing.

Forever.

Sans knew he was far from a saint, but … he wasn’t that cruel.

Which left him back with nothing yet again.

There was no place to send Wingdings back to, and no method to get him there in the first place.

And even if Sans _could_ get him home, a home that really _was_ his home … he wasn’t sure that anyone would actually want him to go.

Not when they knew what he would be going back to.

Not when they knew what he would have to go through, what he would have to endure, with no chance of stopping it.

Sans hadn’t actually been present for any of the ensuing conversations about the war, about the skeletons, about all the time lost, but he knew they had happened. He could see it in the eyes of everyone who talked to the kid. And everyone did, to some extent or another. Mostly it was Toriel and Papyrus, Toriel because of her actual knowledge about the war and the skeletons who hadn’t survived it, and Papyrus because he, above everyone else, had apparently earned Wingdings’s trust. Often Tori would leave those meetings unusually quiet, her eyes dull and distant, like she was remembering something she had tried for years to forget.

Even Papyrus looked shaken on more than one occasion, haunted by things Sans wished he never had to know.

Undyne and Alphys joined in. Neither of them were experts on monster history, but Alphys understood the concept of time travel enough to explain it to Wingdings, and Undyne, well … she might not have been there for the war, but she could explain what life had been like Underground. Sans doubted she had been eager to talk about it—she never was nowadays—but he got the feeling that Wingdings had convinced her. Maybe she had thought that knowing the truth was better than letting a little kid’s imagination run wild.

Sans hadn’t figured out whether or not she was right.

And as for Frisk … Wingdings had refused to talk to them at first, avoiding their company for most of the first day he came out of his room. He didn’t look angry or even suspicious, just … uncomfortable. And Frisk had given him his space, as sad as Sans could tell it made them. They kept their distance and gave him time to process everything he had learned.

But it didn’t take long for Wingdings to realize that Frisk was no more of a threat than they had been a few days ago.

Sans heard him come out of his room that evening, and poked his head into the hall just long enough to see him knocking on Frisk’s door. They answered, of course, and Wingdings went inside, and didn’t come out again for another half-hour.

Neither of them talked about their conversation, but the next morning at breakfast, when Frisk asked Wingdings if he wanted some more hash browns, he smiled and held out his plate with a muttered “please” and “thank you.”

Despite that, there was an unspoken agreement that Wingdings shouldn’t be around humans for a while. Even seeing them on TV or in movies made him … anxious, and his good eye looked a hundred years older than it had before. Sans swore he could see him imagining the deaths of every skeleton he had ever knew, and the humans who were behind it.

And as painful as that sounded, Sans knew it was still a hundred times better than actually having to see it.

Imagining it was enough to hurt, though. More than enough. Every night, Sans walked into the hallway outside his room and heard the faint sounds of sobs coming from the guest room—or what used to be the guest room. Every night, he would poke his head into Papyrus’s room and find him absent, just before he heard his voice echoing soft reassurances right along with the sobs.

Wingdings didn’t cry around anyone else. Just Papyrus. Even then, he cried quietly, nothing like that first time, when Sans had heard his sobs echoing throughout the house. Now, he muffled every breath in Papyrus’s shirt, or his own hands, doing his best to keep quiet even as he mourned uncountable deaths. Like the convenience and comfort of everyone in this house was more important than all he had lost.

Sans … didn’t want to imagine where he had learned that from.

But he let Papyrus hold him, comfort him, murmur reassurances that didn’t actually change anything. He let Papyrus stay with him until he fell asleep, and sometimes overnight. He let Papyrus see him at his weakest, and even though he must have thought he was a huge burden, he asked for help whenever he needed it.

In all their time together since they woke up in Asgore’s arms, Sans didn’t think he had ever seen his brother so simultaneously heartbroken and overjoyed.

He stayed with Wingdings every second he was home—if not right at his side, then nearby, keeping track of him, always there in an instant if something was wrong. He solved puzzles with him and invited him to help cook meals and introduced him to modern TV and movies and talked about anything and everything that would keep his mind off of the bad stuff. He settled into his new role as caretaker like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time, very briefly, Sans wondered if this was what Papyrus would be like as a parent.

He pushed that thought aside as quickly as it arrived, even though it refused to leave and settled into one of the dark corners of his mind. It was impossible, anyway. Asgore had told him you needed two people to have a baby, and Sans was pretty damn sure that Wingdings was the last skeleton they were going to find.

Besides, it wasn’t like Papyrus had ever brought up that idea. They were happy, just as they were. Them and their makeshift family and the kid that Papyrus had taken under his wing.

Papyrus was happy with that.

And he was good at it. As good as Tori was with Frisk.

So Sans shouldn’t have been surprised that Papyrus noticed, long before he did, when Wingdings slipped away from the puzzle on the coffee table to stand by the window next to the front door.

Sans looked up when his brother did, and watched him from his own spot at the kitchen table as he stood and followed. He stayed back at first, just looking. Toriel noticed next, then Frisk, who had been engrossed in their section of the puzzle. Undyne and Alphys were out at their respective jobs, and without the loudest member of the family, the day had been quiet so far.

But apparently not quiet enough for Sans to notice the rain pattering outside.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, but it was coming down hard now. Not dangerously hard, but enough to sound against the windows and the roof. Enough to make Wingdings get up from a puzzle that had kept his attention for over an hour. Enough to make him stare out at it like it was some kind of natural miracle.

After a long, silent minute, Papyrus finally closed the space between him and Wingdings, coming to stand behind him and clearing his throat.

“WINGDINGS? WHAT DO YOU SEE?”

Wingdings jumped and turned his head. His good eye was wide and shining, even though the socket was dark.

“It’s raining,” he murmured, glancing out the window again, like he was seeing water pour from the sky for the first time. He looked to Papyrus, then to Toriel, then back and forth between them. He hesitated, then lifted his hands to sign so Tori could understand him. “Can I go outside? I … I promise I won’t track mud in, I just want to …”

He trailed off, teeth gritted, like he was bracing himself for a refusal. Like he had been refused the right to go outside more times than he could count.

Tori smiled, of course, and she almost managed to hide the sadness in the backs of her eyes.

“Of course you can go outside. Frisk, would you like to join him? I know you love puddles.”

Sans hadn’t seen Frisk come up to her side, but now they were beaming, turning to Wingdings with their wide smile and bright eyes saying more than their words ever could. It took a second, but Wingdings finally smiled in return.

Tori got out their raincoats and boots from the closet, dressing the two kids herself. Wingdings tensed as she moved over him, adjusting the coat and making sure his socks weren’t bunching up inside his boots, but he relaxed after a minute, letting her fuss over him. Sans wondered whether anyone had ever done this for him before. He was seriously beginning to doubt it.

Frisk was already halfway out the door by the time she was finished, and only at the last second did she pull out an umbrella from the closet and hand it to Wingdings, saying that if they decided to walk a little further and the storm got heavy, they might need some protection. He held the beat-up old thing like it was her most prized possession, nodding and smiling, just a little, before following Frisk and Papyrus out into the rain.

While those two ran ahead, Wingdings trailed behind, taking the time to open the umbrella and hold it over his head. He didn’t seem bothered by the rain, or by getting wet. He just walked under the umbrella, tilting his head up toward the pattering sounds, like it was the greatest joy in the world. Frisk and Papyrus stopped at the sidewalk and immediately held out their arms, faces up to let the rain cascade over them, and though Tori had closed the door, blocking out the noise, Sans could still see Wingdings muffling a laugh behind his hand.

The three of them danced under the pouring rain like stars bounding around a stage, jumping into puddles and spinning in circles and shrieking so loud Sans could hear it even from inside.

Well, Papyrus and Frisk did. Wingdings seemed content to just stand on the sidewalk, under his umbrella, smiling as he watched them play.

Then Papyrus reached out and grabbed him under the arms, lifting him into the air, and Wingdings’s umbrella was left abandoned on the sidewalk.

He looked stunned at first, limp in Papyrus’s grip, good eye wide as he tried to figure out what was happening. But it only took a few seconds for a smile to light up his face. He clung to Papyrus’s arms to keep himself from falling, but he let his legs swing loose, tilting his head back to let the rain smack down on his skull, even opening his mouth so the water dripped in. Sans couldn’t quite hear him laughing, but he had no doubt that he was.

A few humans walked by the opposite street, tucked under their umbrellas, staring at the weird monsters dancing in the rain in front of their house, but none of the three even noticed. Normally, Sans would have tripped one of the humans, or at least made note of who they were so he could give them a few subtle threats later. But now, his attention was locked on his brother, the human kid who had freed them all, and the strange little skeleton who had appeared in the backyard shed two weeks ago and happened to look painfully similar to their lost father.

He wondered if Wingdings was thinking about how long they had gone without seeing rain. How most of them had grown up without more than the dripping showers of Waterfall. He wondered if someone so young could even fathom the idea of centuries trapped under a mountain. Sans definitely couldn’t.

He wondered how long it would take Wingdings to really accept the loss of his family. Of all the other skeletons, except two he had never even met.

He wondered how long it would take him to settle, truly settle, if he did stay here, like everyone seemed to expect.

He wondered if they would ever find out all the things Wingdings had forgotten.

Sans tried, one more time, to imagine Wingdings as the adult in the drawing. He tried to imagine him as the parent figure neither of them could remember. He tried to imagine him taller, more mature, his voice deeper and his eyes older. He tried to imagine what he would have been like after the war, when the loss of his entire race was more than just a stated fact. When it was memories of watching the people he loved die, and finding their dust scattered thoughtlessly over an empty battleground.

He wondered how different that person would be from the child he knew now.

He wondered if that adult would have danced in the rain with Papyrus, or whether those simple joys would have lost their shine after so many years of pain.

The idea was just as strange as it had been more than a week before.

Strange, but somehow still familiar.

He didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t like thinking about it too much. It made him feel … he didn’t know. It wasn’t a good feeling, at any rate. Maybe it was because he still couldn’t remember it. Maybe it was because, if Wingdings was stuck like this … he would probably never experience it again.

His dad was gone. Really gone.

And all that was left was a little kid who probably thought of him as a strange skeleton who didn’t talk much, instead of a son.

Sans looked out the window one more time, taking in his brother’s smile, Frisk’s laugh, Wingdings hesitant joy. Then he turned around and headed up the stairs to his room.

It was even more of a mess lately. Not that it had ever been clean, but usually he tried to at least keep Tori from gasping in horror when she poked her head in to talk to him. Tori hadn’t come into his room at all for the past two weeks, though, and his mind had been far too occupied for him to bother. The trash tornado in the corner was getting a little out of hand—he should probably empty it out before it started eating his dirty laundry—and most of his stuff had been strewn around the floor at some point when he forgot to put it away.

His bed was unmade, but frankly, the only times it had ever been made was when Papyrus or Toriel did it for him, so that was nothing new.

He sat down on the edge with a huffed sigh, staring at some of the papers mixed in with the rest of the junk on the floor. The books he had tossed aside when he realized they were useless, and even the most advanced human science and technology couldn’t achieve what he wanted. The shirts he had torn off when he realized they were covered in stains, only to throw on another that hadn’t been washed in over a week.

The mess that had come from his own mistake. His own stupidity. His own desperation.

His own failure.

He had failed so many times. He had failed to stop the resets—even though they stopped on their own in the end. He had failed to get his brother his dream job—even though he had found another here on the surface. And he had failed in getting his own dad back, their own family, the only link they had to a life they might never remember—even though it seemed like it didn’t matter to anyone else.

Was it really giving up now, if he knew that he would just fail more in the end, and maybe make things even worse?

Was it better to keep trying, just so he could say he had, even if he was just going to screw it up?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to think, he didn’t—

The front door opened downstairs, and shut a second later, replaced by the sounds of laughter echoing throughout the house.

Sans lifted his head and stared at his door.

He could just make out the squishing of wet shoes on the floor, of Tori chatting and laughing as Frisk recounted their adventures outside. But Papyrus’s voice didn’t join in. Instead, Sans heard another set of footsteps coming up the stairs, making the floorboards creak as they crossed the hall of the second floor.

He knew the knock was coming before he heard it.

“come in.”

And Papyrus pushed the door open, positively _beaming,_ his feet bare, his raincoat pulled off, and the remainder of his clothes pressing wetly against his bones.

He stood there for a second, just looking at Sans, like he was shouting all of his joys in his head and forgetting to say them out loud. And despite himself, despite the twisting in his soul, Sans let himself soak it in, appreciate this moment of seeing his brother happy. No worries, no concerns, no hidden fears. Just happy.

After a long pause, Papyrus took a step forward, and Sans made out the faint sound of sloshing.

He bit back a snort.

“sounds like you got water in your skull,” Sans muttered, unable to keep his smile from twitching up in the corners.

Papyrus made a face and smacked one side of his skull.

“HMPH, YES, THAT IS ALWAYS A PAIN TO GET OUT.”

Sans ran his eyes over him, taking in his expression, much milder than it usually would have been. “you don’t seem to mind.”

Papyrus had already dropped his hand, even though Sans could hear the water sloshing around inside his head. He smiled and hummed.

“NO. NO, I DON’T THINK I DO.”

He was still dripping. The raincoat had done a very bad job of keeping the water off of his clothes. He wasn’t quite soaked, but Sans could make out a small puddle growing at his feet. He chuckled and pushed himself up off his bed.

“here, i’ll get you a towel.”

He went to the corner, where several piles of junk lay, and pulled out a wrinkled blue towel without even having to look for it. He tossed it to Papyrus, who caught it with one hand even as he raised half his browbone and frowned.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A TOWEL IN YOUR BEDROOM?”

Sans shrugged. “forgot to put it back after a shower.”

Papyrus’s browbone dropped.

“AND WHEN WAS THIS SHOWER?”

“eh, a week ago,” Sans said with another shrug, carefully averting his eyes. “maybe two.”

“SANS!” Papyrus burst, clenching the towel in his fist, and the sound of his chiding voice echoing across the walls had never sounded sweeter.

He grumbled some more as he dried himself off, and Sans kept smiling and nodding like he was actually going to change his ways. It was familiar. It was comforting, like the weight of a thick quilt pressing against his bones. It was warm and soft and heavy, and it would have been so easy to cling to it, just for a while. Just for a few minutes, until Papyrus changed the subject, or left the room.

It would have been so easy, but the words were already in Sans’s mouth, and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t hold them back.

“do you really not mind?”

Papyrus paused, the towel hanging over his head. He looked down at Sans and frowned again, softer than before, more confused than annoyed.

“SANS, WATER IN MY SKULL MIGHT BE RATHER IRRITATING, BUT IT’S NOT—”

“that’s not what i mean,” Sans cut him off, before he could tell himself it was a bad idea.

Papyrus paused, then pulled the towel off, holding it in his hand instead of dropping it on the floor. He would probably take it with him when he went. Put it in the dirty laundry hamper where it belonged, given that it had already been used twice.

“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

Sans didn’t even try to tell himself to let it go now. His thoughts were already moving too fast to stop them, or even to push them off their tracks. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling the movement of air through his teeth.

“you really don’t mind … never finding out? everything we forgot?”

Papyrus blinked, and his grip around the towel loosened so much he almost dropped it. Sans swallowed.

“who we lost?” he went on. “don’t you mind never getting to meet our … our real parents?”

Still, Papyrus just stood there, staring at him, his eyes blown wide and his normally-expressive face almost painfully blank. Sans gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“if wingdings stays, if i … if i don’t find a way to send him back, then … that also kills our chance of getting … them back.”

He didn’t say why, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when Papyrus didn’t ask. He wasn’t ready to tell him yet. Maybe he had already guessed. He was much, much smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

But he hadn’t held the same suspicion toward Wingdings from the beginning. To Sans, Wingdings had been a living incarnation of his own failure to find the person he had been searching for for years. To Papyrus … he was just a lost little kid.

Papyrus thought Wingdings was a child who had lost his home, his family, and wanted to get back to it, even if it was doomed in the end.

Sans knew that even if they did get the machine working again, even if they found a way to reverse what had been done, the place Wingdings went back to probably wouldn’t be the place all of them were thinking.

And if the machine _did_ work again, Sans knew that he would have to let everyone else know what place that would be.

But that was a very big if, and one that Sans severely doubted he would ever manage to achieve.

Papyrus sighed, and Sans snapped out of his train of thought, lifting his head to look back at his brother.

He was staring at the floor now, a tiny crease in the center of his browbone, his mouth curved into a slight frown. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused, closed it, and opened it again.

“I DO MIND. A LITTLE. I THINK,” he said, very slowly, like he was still trying to read his own thoughts. “I WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT WE FORGOT, AND I WANT TO MEET OUR PARENTS.”

A wave of nostalgia passed over his face as he said it, and Sans felt the same wave wash over him, heavy and suffocating and uncomfortably familiar. Then it was gone, and they were here, now, as far away from their lost past as they had ever been.

And also far, far closer.

“BUT … I ALSO DON’T THINK IT MATTERS. NOT LIKE WE USED TO THINK IT DID. NOT LIKE … I USED TO THINK IT DID,” Papyrus went on, lifting his head and meeting Sans’s eyes, his own warm and reassuring. A smile twitched up the frown carved into his face. “NO MATTER WHERE WE CAME FROM … WE’RE HERE NOW. WE HAVE OUR OWN LIVES. WE’RE HAPPY. AT LEAST … I’M HAPPY. AND I THOUGHT YOU WERE HAPPY, AT LEAST MOST OF THE TIME.”

He tilted his head, and Sans tried not to tense at the question. He dropped his head to stare at the floor, clenching his hands around the hem of his hoodie and shifting his slippered feet against the carpeted floor.

“i was,” he muttered, just quietly enough for Papyrus to hear. “i think.”

He looked up, and Papyrus’s head was still tilted, his eyes still wide, nudging him for a better answer. “DO YOU THINK YOU COULD BE HAPPY AGAIN?”

There was a plea there, hidden behind the words, and it made Sans’s soul twist from the ache behind it. For so long, he had focused on how to make his brother happy, forgetting how much Papyrus focused on the same thing. Even when he spent hours making puzzles and trying to impress Undyne, finding his job on the surface and working to make life better for monsters and humans, he had never stopped watching Sans. He had never stopped trying to draw him out into the world, to make him open up, to find more friends, to do little things day after day that made his smile just a little easier.

Sans still didn’t think he mattered like Papyrus did. But Papyrus thought he deserved to be happy. Papyrus _wanted_ him to be happy.

And if he mattered so much to the most important person in his world …

He ran his fingers over his right hand, and the metal plate poking through his long sleeves.

“it’s hard to say for sure,” he replied, because he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep. Then he took a deep breath and met Papyrus’s eyes, standing up as tall as he could and smiling just a little wider. “but yeah. i think so.”

Sans swore he could see the tension slipping out of his brother’s body, replaced by a soft smile and a faint orange glow in his eyes.

“THEN THAT’S ALL I NEED,” he said, so quietly Sans almost didn’t recognize it as his voice. “I NEED YOU AND UNDYNE AND ALPHYS AND FRISK AND TORIEL. AND WINGDINGS.”

He hesitated, then reached out and lay a hand on Sans’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I NEED MY FAMILY HERE WITH ME. EVEN IF THEY’RE NOT ALL THE FAMILY I WAS BORN WITH, THEY’RE STILL MY FAMILY.”

His eyes dropped, but the hand stayed, firm and weighted and real.

“EVEN IF I NEVER FIND OUT WHERE I CAME FROM … I THINK … I THINK I’LL BE HAPPY WITH THIS,” he finished, his smile returning, even bigger than before. “AS LONG AS YOU CAN BE HAPPY, TOO.”

The corners of Sans’s mouth twitched up, just a bit, but enough for him to feel and his brother to see.

“yeah,” he murmured, the words carried on his next breath. “yeah, i think i will be.”

Papyrus knew it wasn’t true. Or, well … that it wasn’t all the way true. Sans didn’t know for sure whether he would be happy. Happiness had always been … elusive for him. Short-lived. Distant and hard to grasp, like the clouds that formed along the border between Snowdin and Waterfall. He didn’t know whether what was enough for his brother would be enough for him.

But even before he started trying to get their lost parent back, even before he started trying to unlock more pieces of their history, he had always wanted one thing. One thing that mattered more than any of the others. One thing that had a better chance of making him happy than anything else in the world.

His brother.

If his brother was happy, he was happy.

He knew it wasn’t that simple, just as well as Papyrus did. He knew that there had been times when Papyrus shouted for joy and Sans had to fight to put a smile on his face.

But it always helped. Always. Every single time.

If his brother was happy, then his chances of finding happiness grew tenfold.

And Sans could feel the start of that happiness growing as Papyrus stepped forward and tugged him into a hug. It was tight and cramped and warm and the best thing he had felt in weeks, and he spent a long few seconds soaking it in before he lifted his arms and hugged him back.

Their parent—their father—was just as lost as he had been when Sans started on the machine. He was there, in the same house as them, alive and well, but the person they had known was lost. The person who remembered the war, who remembered their time Underground, was lost. The person who remembered _them_ was lost.

Everything they had hoped for, everything they had searched for from the moment they woke up in Asgore’s arms, was lost.

But his brother was happy.

The most important person in his world, the only one who had been there from the beginning and stayed with him since, was happy.

And he would try as hard as he could to make that be enough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to EVERYONE who's supporting this story - you guys are incredible. :D

Sans’s eyes flew open to darkness, and he had no idea why.

He lay there for a long few seconds, just staring at the ceiling, letting his eyes—well, his good eye—adjust to the low light coming in from the window. The night was cloudy, but a bit of moonlight still made its way inside, illuminating the junk littering his floor and the blankets bunched at the foot of his bed. He must have kicked them off again. He had been doing that a lot lately. Maybe he wasn’t used to being so warm.

The house was almost silent. The only sounds he could make out were the slight rush of his own breathing and the faint chirp of crickets outside. There was no true silence on the surface, he had learned. Not with so much living up here.

It was weird, but … comforting, somehow. He didn’t think he could go back to the Underground after this. The silence—the _real_ silence, overwhelming, crushing, deafening—might just drive him insane.

Maybe a cricket had woken him up. A really loud cricket. That hadn’t happened since the early days, but then again, they had only been up here for a year. Not that long a time, in the grand scheme of things. Not long enough for him to completely adjust.

A really loud cricket. Yeah. He would go with that.

And he might have actually let himself fall asleep with that lovely excuse, if he hadn’t heard the sob.

It was distant, faint, and not even as loud as the crickets. But Sans had no reason to pay attention to crickets. He did have a reason to pay attention to a sob.

Or … did he?

He turned his head, listened closer, and sure enough, there was another one, even quieter than the first. But now he was listening, now he was paying attention, and now, he couldn’t have missed it if he wanted to. He didn’t know how the sound had carried down the hall from … wherever it was coming from, but—

Oh. He had left his door cracked. That would explain it.

He lay there for another few seconds, debating whether to get up. Surely Tori would hear the crying and go take care of it. Or Papyrus. But … both of them had been so busy lately, and he didn’t hear any doors opening, any footsteps out in the hall. Didn’t they hear it? If it woke him up, it would wake them up for sure, right?

He waited. He listened.

No footsteps came.

Sans didn’t realize he was getting out of bed until his feet were already on the floor, his bare toes tapping on the floor as he made his way across his room. He paused at the door, listening again, just in case he had been imagining it all this time.

Another sob came.

No, that was definitely real.

He opened the door as quietly as he could and poked his head out in the dark. He scanned the hall, focusing on each door, one at a time, searching for the source. But he didn’t need to look very far, and if he was being honest with himself, he already knew where the sound was coming from.

His eyes landed on the door to the guest room, and by the force of all his willpower, he managed not to look away.

He listened closer, and the sounds of the rest of the house faded away, dwarfed by the muffled sobbing coming from behind that door. His feet moved on their own again, padding along the hallway as softly as they could. His bones still made noise with every step he took, but the sobs didn’t stop. Maybe his footsteps weren’t loud enough to be heard inside the room, or maybe the kid was just too distracted. Either way, Sans made it all the way to the door, and the sobs had only gotten louder.

When his hand reached for the doorknob, he screamed at himself to stop. This wasn’t his business. This wasn’t what he did. He should just go back to bed—maybe wake up Tori or Papyrus, but _definitely_ not do anything himself.

He had been avoiding the kid the entire time he had been here. This wasn’t the time to stop.

But his fingers turned the knob without his permission, and before he could stop himself, he was peering in through the cracked door.

Toward the kid curled up on the bed across the room.

His sobs had sounded so loud before, like he had been wailing for someone to come help him, but now they were muffled, slipping out through clenched teeth in shivering, whimpering breaths. Tear tracks ran thick down his cheekbones, and his whole body trembled as he clung to the blankets as his only source of comfort.

Sans felt himself open the door a little wider, moving slowly to avoid the creaking of the old hinges. He screamed at himself to just leave, just go back to his room and forget about this, but his body wasn’t listening. Listening to this kid cry was like listening to Frisk cry, or Papyrus. Wingdings wasn’t either of them, Sans barely knew him, he was a stranger, a random kid pulled out of the wrong time period by accident, he was a houseguest who would only stay until …

But looking at him now, Sans found he couldn’t even finish the lie.

Because Wingdings cried like Papyrus cried.

Papyrus, who tried so hard to be cheerful, even when everyone else was. Papyrus who held his tears until no one was watching. Papyrus who just wanted everyone else to be happy, even if that meant he had to sacrifice his own for a while longer. Papyrus who held in his pain until it was enough to make him scream, but even then, he tried to keep quiet, just because he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone else.

God, how did he take so long to notice it? How did he miss all the similarities between Wingdings and his brother? How did it not hit him from the first moment that this was the person he had been looking for, even if it wasn’t, even if he had lost all memory of them, even if he would never really be their dad again and—

“Sans?”

And with that single word, the infinite gap between him and the bed closed, and any chance he had of staying out of this mess vanished like snuffing out a flame.

Wingdings stiffened from his spot on the bed, good eye locked on him in something like fear, embarrassment, and hope, all wrapped up into one big messy ball. He held the covers up near his shoulders, even though the room was toasty warm, like they were his only shield against the rest of the world. And they were, Sans realized. What else did this kid have? Everything here was new to him. Everything was strange. Everything was a constant reminder that he had never been further away from home.

It took almost a minute, but Sans finally managed to clear his throat and give Wingdings a smile that almost looked real.

“hey, kid,” he started, as pleasantly as he could. Wingdings blinked. Sans shifted his weight to his left foot, then back to his right. “you, uh … everything okay in here?”

Stupid question, obviously, but his head wasn’t working right and he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had never met a monster who cried like that without a reason, and considering Wingdings’s hesitance toward letting other people see him upset … well.

He expected a lie. And honestly, if Wingdings had told him everything was fine, he might have actually accepted it. He would know it wasn’t true, just as well as the kid himself, but it would be an out. A reason for him to say goodnight and leave and get the full night’s sleep he had been hoping for.

He didn’t want to imagine what Papyrus would say if he could hear those thoughts.

But Wingdings didn’t blurt out that he was fine, that he had just been making too much noise, Sans could just go back to sleep and leave him be and everything would be alright.

Instead, he dropped his head to stare at the quilt, clenched it a little tighter in his tiny hands, and drew in a deep, shaking breath.

“I … I had a dream.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but it broke through the silence like a metal pick driving into stone, and Sans barely even noticed his last chance of escape slipping into oblivion.

“oh,” he muttered, because apparently the rest of his words had flown the coop, too.

Wingdings tensed and lowered his head further, pulling the covers up close to his neck.

“I’m sorry I … I woke you up, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice rising to a faint whine. Before Sans could think of answering, Wingdings shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’ll … I’ll go back to sleep, I—”

“no.”

The word came out on its own, falling from Sans’s teeth like it had been sitting there, waiting for its time. Wingdings stopped, and very, very slowly, looked up to meet Sans’s eyes.

And suddenly Sans knew that even if he got an out right now, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

Because that one good eye looked exactly like his brother’s.

He cleared his throat again, swallowed the lump in his throat, and tilted his smile into something at least a little more reassuring.

“hey, it’s fine, i … you didn’t wake me up,” he went on, like he was talking to Papyrus, yeah, that was how he would do this, that was the only way he _knew_ how to do this, just pretend he was talking to Papyrus. He smiled a little wider, a little easier. “and even if you had, i wouldn’t mind.”

And he didn’t. He was tired and he didn’t know what he was doing and he wished more than anything that Papyrus or Tori would come through the doors and take over for him, but he couldn’t blame Wingdings, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t blame a kid for having a bad dream.

Wingdings’s eye flicked over him, searching his face for … something. Sans couldn’t tell whether or not he found it. A few seconds later, the kid dropped his head again, curling up a little further against the headboard, like making himself as small as possible would somehow fix the problem.

“Sorry …”

Sans clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists, but bit back the words that tried to slip out of his throat. None of them would do any good. None of them would help.

No matter how much he wanted to say them.

He hated this. He hated that this kid had been told that he wasn’t supposed to ask for help, wasn’t supposed to cry, wasn’t supposed to bother anybody if he was hurting. He hated that someone—his parents?—had told him that he wasn’t important enough to wake up in the middle of the night to help. He hated that he had grown up with no one to turn to, no one who would hold him when he had a nightmare, no one to tell him everything was going to be okay.

He hated it. He wanted to grab the people who had raised this kid and tell them exactly how badly they had screwed up. Wanted to tell them how they had failed as parents, how they didn’t deserve to have a kid if they weren’t going to take care of him.

But he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to do that, no matter how hard he looked, no matter where he searched.

Because Wingdings’s parents were dead.

They had died centuries ago.

His … grandparents.

That was what they were, wasn’t it? Sans’s and Papyrus’s grandparents.

What had they been like, aside from apparently failing as actual parents? Were they nice to everyone else and just bad with kids, or were they jerks in general? Would they have been better as grandparents? Would they have liked him? Would Sans see parts of him and Papyrus in them, like he was beginning to see in Wingdings?

Would Wingdings have even decided to have kids, if the other skeletons had lived?

He didn’t know. He would never know, probably. Even if he had all his memories back … even if Wingdings remembered them … there were questions he would never have answered, he was sure. There were things no one would know, because they had never happened, and they never would happened. Even if Sans had his dad back, he wouldn’t have his grandparents. His aunts and uncles. His extended family.

He had always thought that one parent would be enough, would be all he could ask for, but hearing Wingdings talk about all the other skeletons, people he had really _known_ …

Well. He guessed he would never know that either.

Wingdings fidgeted again, and Sans shook himself out of his thoughts before he could fall too far in. He could think about all this stuff later. For now … for now …

He cleared his throat, and Wingdings lifted his head.

“do you wanna talk about it?” Sans asked, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt. “the dream?”

Wingdings hesitated. He started to open his mouth, then paused and closed it, dropping his head to stare at his hands, clenching the quilt so hard it looked painful.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“matters to me,” Sans shot back, on a reflex he didn’t know he had.

And he meant it. He didn’t know when it had started mattering, or what had brought it on, but right now, right here, it mattered. It mattered more than anything else he could think of.

 Wingdings glanced up at him for a long second, then dropped his eyes again, like looking at him hurt. He shifted again, making the mattress squeak below him, even though he hardly weighed anything. They would need to get a new mattress for that bed if he stayed in it. They had gotten that one because it was cheap and money was tight, but it was meant for temporary shelter, not comfort. Sans knew Tori would insist on it soon, if no one else brought it up first.

And even though Sans knew it would put a significant dent in their finances … the kid deserved it.

“I saw them. The skeletons.”

Sans blinked and saw Wingdings, eyes still locked on his hands, his head too far low for Sans to make out much of his expression. But his little hands had started to shake from their grip on the quilt, and the tension running through his whole body looked strong enough to shatter him.

“I saw them … dying,” he went on, the words so quiet Sans had to strain his hearing to make them out. “I … I watched the humans kill them, all of them, one by one, and I … I didn’t do anything. I just … hid. I wouldn’t fight. They killed my family and I wouldn’t fight, not at all!”

He was louder now, his breaths coming faster, his hands shaking hard enough for the bones to rattle. His good eye was uncomfortably wide, flickering yellow every few seconds, like he was trying to force it down.

“I just … watched. I watched and then these humans caught me and they were going to … and I … I lifted one up and I took their sword and … and I …”

His voice died, choked off somewhere deep in his throat. Sans felt his own soul twist with every breath, like he was the one fighting to keep from breaking down. He wasn’t sure whether he should go to the bed or leave, but either way, his legs refused to move, so he just stayed where he was.

Wingdings’s head shot up a second later, one eye still blown open, seeking Sans out like he was the only solid thing in an ever-shifting world.

“Why does it hurt, Sans? Why does it hurt so much if it didn’t happen?” His voice was more of a whimper, alternating between a whispering and a shriek. “Is that what’s going to happen to me if I … if I go back? Do I just stand there and watch my whole family die and not even try to …”

He trailed off, staring at the wall like he could see the scene playing out there, see parts of his life that hadn’t happened yet—or had already happened, probably, but which he might never be able to remember. Maybe it was real and maybe it wasn’t. Sans didn’t know. He couldn’t know. And he might never find out.

But it was real now. It was real in Wingdings’s head. And Sans supposed that was all that mattered.

Wingdings’s hands trembled harder now, and a faint whimper slipped out of his throat.

“What if it’s my fault they die?” he went on, still staring at the wall, still seeing things Sans couldn’t even begin to imagine. “What if I could have stopped it but I didn’t because I didn’t want to—”

“hey,” Sans cut in, and he was moving now, feet carrying him across the room without bothering to consult him first. Wingdings kept staring, eye locked on the wall, even as Sans walked to his side of the bed and stood there, only a few feet away. “hey, kid, look at me.”

A second passed, a long, heavy second that seemed to stretch out for an eternity.

Then Wingdings looked at him.

He blinked once, twice, a third time, staring at Sans like he had forgotten he was there. His eyes flickered yellow before snuffing themselves out again. Was that another remnant of his upbringing or did he just not like to glow around other people? Sans breathed in deep, setting his jaw to stop himself from babbling off all the words running through his head.

This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about the people neither of them would ever see again.

This was about the kid.

“it’s not your fault,” he said, as soon as the words had settled in his head. “i don’t care if you fought or didn’t or whatever. it doesn’t matter. it’s not your fault.”

Wingdings opened his mouth and paused, sucking in another shaking breath.

“But if I didn’t—”

“it was a _war,_ kid,” Sans cut in, without even thinking. His own hands were shaking now, trembling fists at his sides, and he pressed them close to his shorts in a vain effort to hide them. “it doesn’t matter if you were the best fighter in the world. if all the other skeletons fought, and they all died, do you really think you could have tipped the scales?”

Wingdings just stared. It took a few seconds for Sans’s own voice to echo back to him, and when it did, his shoulders dropped, his hands relaxing as much as they could. He huffed a frustrated breath and shook his head, forcing his voice to soften.

“look, i … i can’t pretend to know what you’re going through now. honestly, i think the only one who kind of gets it is tori, and even she wasn’t ripped out of her own time.”

Wingdings kept staring. Sans wished he could read his face, but despite his age, this kid had apparently already mastered the art of hiding his emotions. Or at least jumbling them up to a point that they were impossible to pick out.

Sans wondered how much worse that would have gotten by the time he was old enough to have them.

He wondered how often that smile in the drawing had actually shown up on his face.

Then he shook the thoughts away and straightened up, locking his eyes on Wingdings’s face and refusing to let himself look away.

“none of us will ever understand how that feels,” he went on, and he didn’t try to hide how helpless he felt. It was stupid, trying to pretend he was strong in the face of this. Honestly, it was probably more insulting than anything else. He paused again and breathed long and deep. “but we do know that it’s not your fault. none of it was, or … will be. humans and monsters started fighting, there was a war, and a bunch of innocent people died. it’s not the first time that kind of thing’s happened, and from what frisk tells us, it was far from the last.”

It hurt, having this kid’s eyes on him. It hurt to watch the world crush him just a little more as the truth surfaced.

But they had done too much lying already, and there were too many things he wasn’t ready to come clean about. He might as well tell as much as he could.

“but … it’s pretty much never one person’s fault,” he finished, feeling his own shoulders drop and his eyes soften, without even having to try. “or their responsibility.”

He wasn’t sure if Wingdings had even blinked since he started talking. He did now, a few times fast, like he was trying to force away tears before they could form. He glanced back and forth between his hands and the wall, lingering on Sans for only a second at a time before he looked away again. He kept blinking, but Sans could see the beginnings of the tears now, coming too fast for him to hide.

“I’m scared, Sans,” Wingdings murmured, sounding so young that it was almost impossible for Sans to believe that he was really centuries old. “I’m scared of going back and I’m scared of never going back and I’m scared of what happens to me during the war and … and what will happen if I don’t go back and what will happen if I do and I … I …”

He paused, then sucked in a breath like he was drowning, closing both his eyes and shacking his head.

“I … don’t know what to do.”

He started to say something else, but no sound came out, and he was sitting there, curled up, clinging to the blankets, blocking out the rest of the world like not seeing it would make it less real. Part of Sans thought he should leave, let the kid pretend, let him hide from the world, even for a little while. But he also got the overwhelming sense that this was not the right time to leave Wingdings alone.

So he didn’t.

“hey.” He hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the old mattress dip a little underneath him. “that’s okay.”

Wingdings glanced at him, but looked away again a second later. Sans gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath, then forced his hand up, resting it as gently as he could on the kid’s shoulder. He felt him flinch under his touch, but relax as the seconds ticked by. His bones felt like Papyrus’s, thin and sharp and far frailer then they looked.

Sans sighed.

“it’s okay if you don’t know what to do. that’s me, like, ninety percent of the time.” He moved his hand a little, rubbing his fingers over the fabric of the nightshirt. “you can take time to think about it. you’ve … kinda had a bombshell dropped on you this past week. least we can do is give you time to figure things out.”

He did his best to keep smiling, even though he knew it looked sad. Wingdings still wouldn’t look at him, but Sans felt him lean into his touch, like he was trying to soak it up as much as possible before he lost it.

Sans wondered when someone from his own time last gave him a hug.

Wingdings ducked his head and stared intently at the holes in his hands.

 “Would you be mad, if I stayed?”

It was so quiet and hesitant that Sans almost missed it. Like Wingdings didn’t want him to hear it. Sans’s browbone wrinkled.

“why would i be mad?” He asked, realizing only after the words were out that he probably didn’t want to know the answer.

Wingdings ducked his head even further, pulling the covers up close to his chin.

“Because you don’t want me here.”

It took all Sans had not to push himself off the bed and back up. The words felt like rocks, pelted at him from across the room. But there was no maliciousness, no anger, no frustration. Just … facts. Facts and acceptance.

As Sans struggled to get his voice to work again, Wingdings looked up and smiled, small and shaky.

“It’s okay. I know I … messed things up. When I came here,” he said, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. He looked down, still smiling. “I know you wish you didn’t have to deal with me.”

Sans racked his mind for something to say, but still nothing came up. The silence hung in the air like ice, and after a few seconds, Wingdings looked up again, trying and failing to look assured.

“I’ll be okay going back. Really, I will, I—”

“wingdings.”

It was the first time he had said the name—at least in front of the kid—and it felt weird in his mouth. Apparently it sounded just as weird as it felt, because Wingdings froze, staring at him like he had just spouted a string of curses. Sans stared back at him for a few seconds, feeling his thoughts beginning to settle, before he took a deep breath and shook his head.

“i’m not mad,” he said, and it was easy to sound like he meant it. He did. He searched his own soul as thoroughly as he could, and there was no anger left. He sighed and shook his head again. “and you didn’t mess things up. if anything got messed up, it was my fault. i was the one who … brought you here in the first place. none of this is your fault.”

Wingdings didn’t respond, but Sans didn’t expect him to. He looked at his hand, still resting on the kid’s shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew that bony shoulders probably all felt the same, but it felt like touching his brother. Familiar and warm and comfortable. He had never thought he would feel that with anyone else. But here he was. Here they were, together, despite the centuries that should have divided them.

His machine had failed, in one sense. But it had still done more than he had ever really thought it could.

“and if i’ve been acting weird … that’s not on you,” he went on, dropping his eyes to stare at the quilt. “i’ve got my own issues, and they were here a long time before you were.”

He ran his fingers over the patchwork, the stitching, the smoother fabric. Tori had brought it up from the Underground. It was old, probably handmade, and close to falling apart, but it was also thick and warm and smelled of years of baking. Maybe that was why she had reserved it for guests.

He sighed again and looked back up, and for once, his smile appeared completely on its own.

“if you decide you wanna stay here … then i think everyone will be really happy to have you here. including me.”

Wingdings tensed, then lifted his head, painfully slowly.

It was only as their eyes finally met that Sans realized he meant it.

He barely noticed the tears in Wingding’s empty socket before the kid threw himself forward, his hands clinging to hunks of Sans’s shirt and pressing his face close to his chest. Sans froze, staring down at him, arms in the air as he tried to figure out where to put them.

Papyrus, he thought. Just pretend it’s Papyrus.

And then it was easy. He wrapped his arms around the tiny body pressed against him, imagining it was taller, lankier, maybe wearing slightly different clothes. He ran his hand over the ridges of his spine, rubbed circles over his shoulder blades, pressed his cheekbone to the top of his skull, and held him so tight it almost hurt.

He felt the tears, warm and real against him, felt the shaky breaths even through his shirt, felt the thrum of a soul that was already becoming more familiar than a few weeks should have made it.

And as the minutes passed by, as the tears ran through their course and finally began to quiet down, Sans’s thoughts truly settled for the first time since that night in the shed.

He was never going to find out his past. He was never going to meet the person who had brought him into the world, who had raised him and his brother until they lost all their memories. He would live the rest of his life with questions unanswered, with most of his childhood a blank. An orphan, essentially, with only one family member who he could remember.

  And the thought hurt. It hurt worse than anything he had felt in a long, long time.

But … maybe it would be worth it.

It would never be okay. Not completely. It would never stop bothering him. The questions would hang there in his head until the day he died.

But maybe it was worth it, if this kid could be happy.

If his brother could have the child to care for that he seemed to so desperately want.

If Frisk could have a friend to talk and solve puzzles with.

If Tori could keep on nurturing a kid she had clearly already fallen for.

If Alphys could have an eager student, so ready to soak up anything she could teach.

Undyne … Undyne might not be close to this kid, might have almost nothing in common with him, but Sans could see even she had already accepted him. He made Alphys happy, and that was just as much a gift for Undyne as it was for Alphys herself.

And Sans …

Sans looked down at Wingdings’s body, as big as his but curled up so small now, his head tucked against his shoulder, face pressed into his shirt as the last of his tears slipped from his sockets, soaking into the fabric. He listened to the fading sobs, shifting into shaky breaths. He felt the tiny hands clinging to him like they had clung to Papyrus so many times already.

And the feeling of being needed—wanted—washed over him like a river that had spilled over its dam.

His breath caught again, and he held it for a few seconds before forcing it out, slowly and quietly. His hands kept moving up and down, stroking over the unfamiliar spine, like he had done for his brother so many times. He tightened his hold, and Wingdings instantly pressed closer, like he had finally been given permission to do what he wanted all along.

Sans didn’t need to ask whether anyone—before Papyrus—had done this before.

He didn’t need to ask what his parents had been like.

He had denied it, brushed the thought aside, told himself it wasn’t important, but he had known for a long time.

So he stayed, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the kid in his arms, until he felt the tension in his body began to fade. Until his breaths slowed and evened out, and the last hint of tears vanished completely. Then he slowly began to shift himself further onto the bed, loosening his hold on Wingdings until he could lower him easily down onto the pillow.

“Don’t go.”

Sans stopped.

He looked down, but Wingdings’s face was still pressed into his shirt, and his hands now clung just as tightly as before. He didn’t look up, but Sans could feel the faint blush of magic on his cheeks, like he was embarrassed by his own words, but not enough to take them back.

Sans stared at him for a long, long moment. Then his breath came out, heavy and quiet, and he closed his eyes, holding an image of his brother’s bedroom sharp in his mind.

And they moved.

If Wingdings noticed the shortcut, he gave no sign, and Sans allowed himself a brief moment of pride at managing to pull it off so smoothly. He opened his eyes and looked around, confirming that they were, indeed, sitting on the floor of Papyrus’s bedroom, illuminated by the faint yellow glow of the nightlight Papyrus had seen in a store a few months back and kept plugged in every night since.

He pushed himself to his feet, keeping his arms wrapped around Wingdings, and gently nudged him forward, toward Papyrus’s bed. Wingdings lifted his head and blinked a few times, as if trying to figure out whether he was. But for once, his tiredness seemed to have won over his curiosity, and when Sans guided him into the empty space Papyrus had left on the mattress, he climbed on without protest.

Sans followed a second later, adjusting himself until he finally settled into the narrow space between Wingdings and the edge of the bed. Papyrus made a soft noise and shifted in his sleep, instinctively scooting over as he had all the times Sans had crawled into his bed late at night.

Moonlight shone in through the window, even brighter than in Sans’s room, and the sounds of their breaths broke through the silence like gusts of wind. Wingdings felt warm and alive next to him, like his brother had always felt so warm and alive, tethering him to the ground even when his thoughts threatened to drag him up into the clouds. Reminding him that this was real, this was his life, right here, right now. And it was worth living for.

“Sans.”

It was even quieter than a whisper, but it rang through Sans’s head like a shout, and he tilted his head just enough to meet Wingdings’s eye.

“yeah?” he asked, just as quietly.

Wingdings watched him for a few seconds, his face hard to read, his good eye … considering.

“You didn’t know me, did you?” he asked, and there was a desperation behind the words that Sans couldn’t explain. “You and Papyrus were born a long time after the war, but … did you know me? Later on?”

Sans felt his breath catch in his throat— _“ I FEEL LIKE I KNOW HIM EVEN IF I DON’T”_—but he forced it back down a second later and did his best to keep smiling.

“why do you ask?”

Wingdings broke his gaze and stared at his chest instead, like he was looking at his soul, even though Sans knew his shirt was definitely covering it.

“When you look at me … it’s like you’ve seen me before. Only … not me?” He frowned a little, a crease forming in the center of his browbone. “And sometimes, when I look at you, and … and Papyrus, it’s like … it’s like I know you, too.”

He went silent for a few seconds, apparently lost in his thoughts, before he made a slight humming noise and shook his head.

“I don’t know. It’s all fuzzy.”

Sans didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know whether to dig deeper or leave it alone. He didn’t know what he would find if he dug into it.

He didn’t know whether it would change things for the better or the worse.

And right now … right now, he would rather things stay just the way they were.

Wingdings huffed a sigh and lifted his eyes again, peering into Sans’s with an intensity Sans had never seen on someone so young.

“I hope I know you,” he finished, and the whispered words engraved themselves in Sans’s head, warm and familiar and comforting, even though he had no idea why. “Or … knew you. You’re good people to know.”

Sans stared back at him, and for once, the urge to look away didn’t even surface. He looked at Wingdings, and Wingdings looked at him, and it was comfortable, and safe, and almost painfully right.

He would never get his dad back.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get to know the person that his dad had once been.

His smile twitched up further at the corners, and he wrapped one arm around the kid’s thin body, tugging him a little closer as they both closed their eyes and settled down into the softness of the pillows and the warmth of the shared bed.

“yeah, kid,” he murmured. “you too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I keep forgetting to mention this: credit for Wingdings being so desperate for Sans's approval goes to CaitieLou. I planned from the beginning to have some sort of relationship development for the two of them, but she brought up the idea of Wingdings really admiring Sans, and I _loved_ the idea. So thanks, CaitieLou!! (Also, if by some crazy coincidence you read my Handplates stuff but haven't seen CaitieLou's, [go read it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitieLou/pseuds/CaitieLou). Seriously.)
> 
> And yes, as of the last Handplates page, this story breaks with canon - I knew it would happen at some point or another, I was just waiting for it. XD
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and as always, thank you SO much for all your kind support!!

Mount Ebbot was exactly the same as he remembered.

Well, not _exactly,_ he supposed. He was sure that many of the plants had died off and been replaced by new ones, and the air smelled different than it had during the trips he had taken before. The view from high up would never be the same. His town was gone—probably destroyed in the war—replaced by a human city and a growing monster town just to the side.

It was different, but it was still beautiful, and it was the most familiar thing he had felt since he stepped out of that shed.

“THE BARRIER IS JUST UP THERE!” Papyrus announced about two hours into their hike, pointing toward what looked to be a crumbling stone entryway up ahead. “WELL, IT’S NOT THE BARRIER ANYMORE, BUT IT’S WHERE THE BARRIER USED TO BE!”

He sounded so cheerful talking about it. So normal. Almost everyone did. The barrier had kept them trapped for hundreds of years, but none of them seemed particularly bitter about it now that they were free. They appreciated freedom more than Wingdings would ever be able to—at least, unless he went back and had to experience what it was like to have it taken away.

Though at this point … at this point …

"WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings snapped out of his thoughts and looked ahead again, only to find Papyrus watching him, his steps slowing, his head tilted in concern. Before he had the chance to ask what was wrong, Wingdings smiled and shook his head.

“I’m okay, Papyrus. Just thinking.”

Papyrus didn’t look completely satisfied, but he smiled back, and a second later, turned to the path ahead of them.

Wingdings didn’t pursue that line of thought again.

But it was easy to distract himself now, with everyone else around. It was a nice day, and he wanted to keep it that way. It was the first time he had been outside of town since he had shown up in the shed, and despite the familiarity, everything still felt new. And he was finally going to see the place that all the other monsters had called home for hundreds of years. Part of him thought he should be sad, and he was, but … none of his new friends seemed upset about it. So maybe he shouldn’t be either.

Undyne was apparently having the time of her life, hiking up the mountain as fast as she could with Alphys slung over her shoulder. Alphys had lasted about five minutes of walking before she started lagging behind, and she didn’t even have time to open her mouth to suggest a break before Undyne picked her up. Sans … had lasted a good deal longer—especially considering what Wingdings had seen of his HP—but Wingdings suspected that was because he kept disappearing randomly and appearing a distance ahead of them, leaning against a tree and grinning, like he had been waiting for them to catch up.

Papyrus had said Sans could take “shortcuts,” but Wingdings still hadn’t quite figured out what that meant.

Either way, apparently he had either run out of shortcuts or gotten tired of taking them, because now he was trailing just behind Papyrus, shoulders slumped, head tilting, yawning every few minutes. Papyrus glanced over his shoulder no less than three times before he finally huffed a sigh, turned around, and hoisted Sans up into his arms. Sans was asleep in seconds.

Wingdings’s mouth twitched up at the corners, and suddenly he wished he could ask Frisk for their “phone” so he could take a “photograph.”

He … was getting better at understanding what both were, but he still had a long way to go.

Only a few minutes later, Papyrus shouted and pointed forward—not even coming close to dropping Sans—and started running—still, without dropping Sans. Frisk bounded after him, then Undyne, Alphys bouncing along on her shoulder. Wingdings did his best to keep up, but by the time he reached them, panting and shaking out the ache in his legs, everyone else was standing in front of what looked like the entrance to a cave.

Except … it wasn’t a cave.

At least, it wasn’t _just_ a cave. It might have started as a cave, but Wingdings could already see the structure built inside, how the dirt turned into a smooth white floor, stretching out into the shadows, turning a corner into …

Into what?

The rest of the mountain?

He knew the space inside must have been big to hold all of the monsters who survived the war, but … somehow, he hadn’t really let himself imagine what such a place would look like.

A whole civilization, carved into the mountain that had overshadowed his home all his life.

“ALRIGHT, SANS, I HAVE CARRIED YOU LONG ENOUGH! IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO WALK ON YOUR OWN FOR A BIT!”

Wingdings turned to see Sans grumbling as Papyrus set him down on wobbly legs. He kept his arms out for a few seconds, ready to catch his brother if he fell, but Sans stood, yawning without opening his mouth and rubbing one eyesocket. Papyrus still waited, like Sans might protest, might ask him to carry him just a little while longer. Wingdings was pretty sure Papyrus would have agreed, if he had.

But Sans just sighed and padded forward, slow and a little shaky, and Papyrus grinned, putting his hands on his hips and striding forward into the not-cave.

“WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND!” he shouted, clearly toward Wingdings, even though he was facing the inside of the cave. He spread his arms out wide. “OUR HOME FOR MANY YEARS! AND EVEN THOUGH WE ARE VERY HAPPY TO LIVE ON THE SURFACE NOW, IT REMAINS A PLACE OF MANY MEMORIES FOR EVERYONE!”

Except him.

But Wingdings didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, when Papyrus looked over his shoulder, searching for his reaction, Wingdings smiled in what he hoped was encouragement. Papyrus beamed back, then started forward, immediately beginning what Wingdings supposed was a complete history of the Underground.

Or, well, as complete as someone who had been born into it could give.

Undyne ran ahead to walk at his side, Frisk right behind them, their arms swaying back and forth with their steps. Sans trailed in the back, and Wingdings found himself walking just to his left.

They didn’t talk, even though they probably could have had a conversation at full volume without Papyrus noticing. But it was … easier than the silences they had shared before. Every minute or so—usually when Papyrus had just said something he didn’t intend to be funny but which made Wingdings snicker anyway—Sans would look over at him, and Wingdings would look back. It wasn’t talking. But it was comfortable, in the strangest way.

Wingdings didn’t know if he and Sans were friends now. He thought they were, at least a little. Sans was still quiet, and still talked to him less than everyone else. But something had changed between them that night in his room. Sans didn’t avoid looking at him now, and sometimes he would even start a conversation. Once or twice, when they were talking, his smile had gotten just a little wider, and it felt like Wingdings’s soul might burst from joy.

He hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him about science yet. He still remembered what Alphys said about it being … a mixed topic for him.

Someday, though. Someday soon, he would ask.

He was beginning to realize that he would have plenty of time to do so.

The castle they walked into next was … magnificent. Maybe even more than the one he had known in his village. The King and Queen had always been humble for royalty, choosing a much smaller space than what he had heard of other leaders, but still, their home had been beautiful. But this place was … stunning. The actual house inside was small, ordinary, but the castle itself wrapped around it in shades of gold, tainted only by a thin layer of dust.

It was sad, in a way, to see this place abandoned, when so much work had clearly gone into building it. But then Wingdings imagined this being his only home. The only place he could go. A beautiful castle he could never leave, except to explore the rest of the space under the mountain. It didn’t matter how beautiful it was if he couldn’t leave it. A beautiful prison was still a prison.

And suddenly the layer of dust resting on the floor was the most beautiful thing of them all.

It was a long way out of the castle and past what was apparently the capital, but Papyrus filled the silence, going on and on about the times he had visited this place with his brother and the people he had met. Undyne piped in now and then, and once or twice, the two went off on mutual rants about adventures they had during their training. Wingdings felt … strange watching them talk, so comfortable with each other, so much shared history he would never fully understand.

So much history that every other monster shared, except for him.

But even when Undyne distracted him for a few minutes, Papyrus always went back to explaining things, glancing over his shoulder to check that Wingdings could hear him, and that made the tightness in his chest lighten, just a little.

By the time they stepped out of what Papyrus said was a “VERY FAMOUS HOTEL,” the temperature had skyrocketed. Wingdings didn’t mind, of course, and neither did Sans or Papyrus, or even Alphys, but Frisk and Undyne were dripping sweat within a few minutes, tugging at their sleeves to loosen them and breathing a little harder with each step they took. But they kept going, through what Alphys said was her old town, with houses and businesses and what looked like giant puzzles. They had to take a longer path because the elevators weren’t working, but no one complained. Undyne finally set Alphys down when the heat got even stronger, and though Alphys didn’t seem to like the idea of walking, she never once complained.

Papyrus clearly knew less about Hotland than the capital or the castle, but he filled the silence anyway, chattering on about the things he had heard about it—things that Wingdings … wasn’t sure he believed, but Undyne didn’t speak up to contradict. Some of what he said sounded like history, though, like it had been pulled straight out of a book, stories of how monsters had only found this part of the Underground a century ago, and how, before that, they had lived in one small area near the other side of the mountain, now called the Ruins.

The inside of the mountain looked small enough already. Wingdings didn’t want to imagine what it had been like, everyone crowded in one part of it.

“AND THAT IS THE CORE, THE SOURCE OF ALL OUR POWER! THE BIG MACHINE WE WALKED THROUGH EARLIER!” Papyrus went on as they reached a path near the edge of a cliff, holding his arm out toward the hulking metal contraption in the distance, and the bubbling pit of lava filling the space between it and them. He paused, frowning. “WELL, NOT ANYMORE, WE DIDN’T BRING IT UP TO THE SURFACE AND NO ONE USES IT, BUT I’M SURE IT WOULD STILL BE A GREAT SOURCE OF POWER IF IT WAS ACTIVE!”

“And a great source of _heat_!” Undyne huffed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Geez, Alphys, you sure this thing isn’t gonna blow up the whole mountain?”

Alphys still walked along at Undyne’s side, perfectly comfortable in the sizzling heat while Undyne looked ready to pass out.

She laughed, a little nervously, and shook her head.

“Y-yeah, it’ll be fine!” she said, and despite her anxiety, it was clear that she meant it. She turned to Wingdings, and he stood up taller in attention. “We u-used to have a g-guy who would t-throw i-ice into the C-Core so it wouldn’t … o-overheat, b-but s-since he m-moved to the surface, we s-set up a m-machine that would do it f-for him. We don’t need as much s-since it’s not a-actually being u-used, but we s-still need s-some.”

She glanced off to the side, and her smile faded, just a little.

“O-otherwise … w-well, it w-wouldn’t be good.”

She didn’t explain why, and Wingdings didn’t ask. For once, he didn’t need to. A pit of boiling lava somehow attached to a power-generating machine spoke for itself.

And even though it was amazing, he had to wonder why it was worth the risk. Why getting all that “power” mattered so much. But he didn’t ask about that either. He knew it was another of those things he couldn’t quite understand. She had explained the concept of electricity several times now—it was apparently very necessary to make computers work—but Wingdings thought it would still take another few explanations before he got it, and how it had become so important in this modern world when he had lived his whole life just fine without more than a gas lamp.

For now, he just smiled and nodded, and Alphys smiled back, a little less shakily, before turning around and following Papyrus on his continued tour of the place apparently called Hotland. They had to stop again every minute or two for Undyne to rest and get a drink out of the enormous water bottle she had been hiding … somewhere, but she was always quick to recover, back on her feet and determined to keep going, even though it looked like the heat was the worst enemy she had faced in years.

They must have been walking for half an hour when she suddenly shouted loud enough to make all of them freeze.

“Oh, thank god, a building!” she huffed, pointing toward a tall white structure looming ahead. She started off immediately, not quite in a run, but definitely faster than a walk. “Come on, guys, let’s go!”

“BUT UNDYNE, THERE ARE STILL MORE THINGS TO SEE!” Papyrus called after her.

Undyne stopped, looked over her shoulder, then growled and wiped the sweat off her forehead again.

“We can see them later, Papyrus. I need _air conditioning._ ”

Papyrus opened his mouth, ready to argue, but then took one long look at Undyne and let his mouth fall shut.

When they walked up to the door, they only had to stand there a few seconds before it slid open on its own. Wingdings jumped, but no one else looked startled, so he pushed his own reaction aside. Another one of those modern things he had yet to get used to.

They walked inside—Undyne practically shoving past everyone to get under the cool air quicker—and he followed close behind them.

Wingdings had never seen a building so … smooth. Or so white. Of course, there were decorations and furniture and … a moving staircase? He would ask about that later. His footsteps echoed almost as loud as they had while walking through the castle, and the whole place smelled … artificial, somehow. It was familiar, though. He didn’t know how it was familiar, or what it reminded him of, but he swore that he had smelled it somewhere before.

“What is this place?”

He didn’t even realize the words were in his head before they were out in the open, everyone turning to look at him, and apparently he had been signing, too, because Alphys didn’t hesitate to reply, though she didn’t smile, and her eyes were locked on a random spot on the floor.

“It’s, uh … t-the old lab.”

“DR. ALPHYS’S OLD LAB!” Papyrus piped in, and didn’t seem to notice how Alphys cringed.

But he didn’t say anything else, and Alphys looked … relieved? Wingdings didn’t know why, but he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was.

Undyne let out what might have been the loudest sigh Wingdings had ever heard as she flopped into a nearby chair, stretching out her legs and wiping even more sweat off her face. Alphys didn’t look remotely hot, but she was huffing a little, apparently tired from the journey, so she picked another chair and dropped into it as well.

Frisk giggled, but couldn’t quite hide their own discomfort, finally pulling off their striped sweater to reveal a striped T-shirt underneath. Wingdings had never seen them in anything but the sweater before, and it was a little weird, but then again, it was also weird to see people so bothered by the heat. He supposed there were some things a skeleton would never be able to understand.

“Hey, how’s there still AC in this place anyway?” Undyne piped up, once she looked less like she was going to pass out. “Hell, how are the lights on? I thought you said the Core wasn’t active.”

Alphys opened her eyes, blinking for a second before she hummed in response.

“Y-yeah, t-there’s an emergency b-backup g-generator. I … d-didn’t want to risk losing p-power here if s-something went wrong.”

Undyne raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Good idea.”

Alphys turned to the rest of them and gave them a shaky grin. “It won’t l-last too long, b-but we s-should be f-fine for an hour or two.”

Undyne hummed, but her eyes were already closed again, her head leaning against the back of the chair. Alphys smiled at her, softly, fondly, and Wingdings felt something squeeze in his chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling. It was … familiar? Happy? Happy for her? Yes, he was happy that she was happy, that she had someone who _made_ her happy, but … she had been with Undyne the whole time he had known her. This wasn’t new. But he couldn’t help but imagine what she had been like before they met. How much happier she must be now that she had someone like that in her life.

He … didn’t know what to make of those thoughts, so he did his best to push them aside.

It didn’t work very well.

“WHERE DOES THAT DOOR GO?”

At least, not until Papyrus shattered the silence like a pane of glass.

Wingdings hadn’t noticed him crossing the room, but when he turned to see him now, he was near the other side of it, pointing toward a door across from him with … a picture of a person on it? It looked a little like a human figure, from the shape of it. Wingdings didn’t know why it would be painted on a door, but apparently monsters had made use of a lot of human garbage when they lived down here, so maybe that was the only door available?

Alphys pushed herself up from the chair, peering over to see what Papyrus was pointing at. She blinked once before her eyes shot open wide.

Wide and panicked.

“Uh … t-that’s the elevator.”

Papyrus’s browbone went up.

“OH! ARE THERE OTHER FLOORS?” he asked, though it was more of an excited exclamation than a question. Alphys fidgeted, but Papyrus wasn’t waiting for an answer. “CAN WE GO SEE THEM? I’VE NEVER BEEN TO THE OTHER FLOORS!”

“didn’t think you’d ever been to the lab at all before, bro,” Sans commented, leaning up against the wall closest to his brother. At first glance, he looked half asleep, but there was something … sharp in his eyes that convinced Wingdings he was definitely awake.

Papyrus opened his mouth, then stopped with the first word half out of his mouth.

He blinked. He blinked again.

His browbone furrowed.

“I … I HAVEN’T,” he said at last, still trying to sort through his own thoughts. He frowned. “AT LEAST … NO. NO, I DEFINITELY HAVEN’T.”

He tilted his head, his browbone so thickly furrowed it looked like the bone was actually scrunched up. He looked back to his brother.

“HAVE YOU, SANS?”

Even though he had been the one to ask the question, Sans looked just as baffled. He stared at the door for a second, like it might trigger some forgotten memory. But nothing happened, and finally, he shook his head.

“uh … not to the lower levels, no.”

“WAIT, SO IT’S LOWER LEVELS, NOT HIGHER?” Papyrus asked, tilting his head the other way. “HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT IF YOU HAVEN’T BEEN HERE BEFORE?”

Sans started to reply, but just like his brother, he apparently realized that he had nothing to say. In the end, he just shrugged, trying to look casual, but Wingdings knew him too well to actually believe it didn’t matter.

Papyrus finally let it go, and asked again if they could go down to see the “underground lab.” Even with his confusion, his eyes still sparkled with excitement, and though Alphys hesitated for a good few seconds, she finally smiled—more than a little shakily—and agreed to give them all a tour.

Wingdings had never been in an elevator before. He had seen one on the television, and Frisk had explained what it was and what it did, but nothing compared to actually feeling himself being lowered into the ground by some kind of … automated machine. It shook a few times, jolting a little, and every time Wingdings froze, bracing himself for … he didn’t know what. But no one else even flinched, so he guessed it was normal. Hopefully.

Still, when the doors finally opened, he stumbled out first, almost falling over onto the cold, hard floor before he caught himself and paused to catch his breath.

It wasn’t until everyone else stepped out behind him that he thought to actually look around.

It was … dark. Not completely dark, but infinitely darker than it had been upstairs, with the lights blaring down from the ceiling. He had to squint at first to see much ahead of him—or, rather, side to side. There was some sort of machine that had what looked like snacks inside, and a potted plant, but other than that, it was just … empty halls, stretching out on either side until they disappeared into shadows.

“did the lights break down here or something?”

Wingdings jolted when Sans spoke directly over his shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at him. He was staring off into the distance, squinting like Wingdings had to try to make out what was ahead. Maybe he really had been here before. But if he had, why didn’t he remember it? He hadn’t been lying before. At least … Wingdings was almost sure he hadn’t been lying. He didn’t _look_ like he was lying, but Wingdings got the sense that if Sans really wanted to hide something from him, he could do it easily.

“—always been bad about g-getting p-power all the way down here, s-so it t-tends to be kind of … d-dark.”

Wingdings turned back to Alphys just as she finished her explanation. Sans didn’t seem to have been listening, but Alphys was too absorbed looking around the old lab to notice. She looked … even more uncomfortable than before. Did this place mean something to her? The memories swirling in her eyes went too deep for him to see the end of them, complex and multi-colored and so twisted around each other that he could never hope to untangle them.

She caught him staring and jumped, then smiled awkwardly. Wingdings did his best to smile back.

“C-come on, everyone,” she said a second later, turning back to the rest of the group. “Let’s g-get going. We d-don’t want to b-be down here when the g-generator r-runs out.”

The darkness seemed to lighten, just a little, as they made their way through the halls, but Wingdings guessed that was just his eyes adjusting. It was still dim, but at least he didn’t run into any walls. Alphys walked the halls more naturally than any part of the Underground so far, and even Frisk seemed to know their way around almost as well.

Wingdings had never asked how they broke the barrier, when monsters had failed at doing so for hundreds of years.

For the first time, he wondered how hard it had been, and how much they had had to go through to do it.

Maybe he would ask them later, when they got back home.

Papyrus didn’t even try to narrate things down here. He looked around, taking in everything he saw, even though there wasn’t much to see. He seemed to be searching for something in particular. It didn’t look like he found it, but he never stopped looking. He wasn’t the kind of person who gave up easily.

Though … Wingdings wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was looking for himself.

Alphys clearly knew everything there was to know about this place, but she didn’t narrate either. She walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run, apparently trying to get out as fast as possible while still allowing Papyrus the “tour” he had wanted. Undyne kept shooting her concerned looks, but for once, didn’t speak up. She seemed to know that words would only make things harder.

So the silence remained, broken only by their tapping footsteps, for what must have been ten minutes.

And then, with a single word, it shattered.

“Alphys?”

Frisk’s voice cut through the air like someone striking a gong. Alphys jumped, but turned along with everyone else to face Frisk, who had managed to fall behind the rest of the group and now stood a few steps behind the rest of them.

In front of … a door?

Funny. Wingdings had passed right by it, and he hadn’t even noticed it in the corner of his eye.

“Y-yeah?” Alphys asked, doing her best to sound calm even though she was even more jittery than before.

Frisk frowned, glancing back at the door before they looked to Alphys again.

“Where does this go?”

Alphys opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, she stopped, closed her mouth, and frowned.

She stood there for a few seconds, racking her head. She opened her mouth again, closed it again, opened it one more time.

“I-I, uh … it—”

She stopped again, and after another few seconds, she finally swallowed and shook her head.

“I … d-don’t know.”

“What?” Undyne jumped in, stepping up to stand at Alphys’s side. “Alphys, you practically lived down here, didn’t you? How can you not know?”

Alphys avoided her gaze, rubbing one of her arm with the opposite hand. “It was l-locked.”

Undyne raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. Frisk stepped up to the door, running their hand over the front of it.

“There’s no knob,” they said, frowning again as they touched something metallic mounted on the wall next to the door. “And this doesn’t work either.”

Undyne took a step forward, cracking her knuckles and smirking.

“I can break it down if you want.”

“U-Undyne!” Alphys sputtered out, more than a little horrified.

“What?” Undyne shot back, shrugging but still dropping her fists back to her sides. “It’s not like you use this place anymore. ‘Sides, now I wanna know what’s inside!”

Alphys made a conflicted noise in the back of her throat, looking back to the door and frowning again.

“It’s … p-probably nothing important. I-it’s been l-locked for … t-the whole t-time I was here, I t-think.”

There was something odd about the way she said it. Something … distant. Vague. Confused.

Like she had said the same thing before, but had never really _decided_ to say it. Like it had been written in her mind by someone else, and she was finally pulling it out and examining it, trying to figure out where it had come from.

Undyne asked something else, but Wingdings didn’t hear the words. He was too focused on stepping forward, moving to take the spot Frisk had left behind, standing right in front of the door.

Or, more specifically, the piece of metal mounted on the wall next to it.

The one that Frisk had said wasn’t working.

It looked like some of the machines Alphys was working on back at the house. Small, smooth, with three little dots near the top. Lights? They looked a little like the small bulbs he had seen on machines, lights that showed with something was working or broken. He reached up to touch them, brushed his fingers over them, then brought his hand down to touch the pad itself.

The lights flickered on.

Something beeped.

And the door slid open.

Wingdings jolted, stumbling back, holding his hand to his chest like it had been burned. He stared ahead of him, into the gaping spot in the wall.

The doorway.

The _open_ doorway.

Stretching out into darkness.

It took him several seconds to notice everyone else staring, first at him, then at the doorway. Frisk asked him if he was okay, but he barely heard them speak. He was far too focused on the newly-revealed opening.

And on Sans and Papyrus, who were staring at it like the most interesting thing in the world.

Both of them, transfixed, eyes locked so firmly that it seemed like they had forgotten they weren’t alone.

For what felt like a minute, all of them just stood there, staring into the darkness. Or … what had been darkness before. The longer Wingdings looked at it, the more he could see the hallway stretching out on the other side. There were walls and a floor and a ceiling and … doors. Some closed, some open, on either side of the wall.

And when the hallway reached an end, Wingdings could just make out a corner, the hallway turning further into the distance.

Sans tucked his hands deep into his pockets, twitched, and took a step forward, his brother moving only a second later, his own movements perfectly matched. One step. Then another. And another. Carrying them forward, toward the abyss.

“Papyrus?” Undyne called out, apparently snapping out of her own trance just as the two of them stepped through the open doorway. “Sans? Where are you guys going?”

Wingdings wasn’t sure if he imagined the anxiety sparking in her voice. Sans and Papyrus stopped, but it took a long few seconds before Papyrus turned his head enough to look at her over his shoulder.

“WE’RE … GOING TO LOOK INSIDE, UNDYNE,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world, though he still sounded … half-asleep, somehow. Like he was in a trance. He tilted his head. “ARE YOU COMING?”

Undyne gritted her teeth, not in frustration, but in … something else. Confusion, maybe? Either way, she was silent for a few seconds before huffing and shaking her head.

“Uh … yeah, sure. I guess.”

Papyrus smiled, smaller and more distant than usual, then turned back around and started into the hall, Sans close behind him.

Undyne sighed again, more heavily, before looking down at Wingdings and raising an eyebrow.

“You okay, kid?”

She sounded worried. It was muted, quiet, like she was trying to muffle it, but it was definitely there. Real concern.

Wingdings hesitated, then nodded. Everything was fine. It was just a locked doorway.

That had opened when he touched the metallic pad.

Undyne kept raising an eyebrow, but finally nodded and started forward, leaving Frisk, Alphys, and Wingdings to trail along behind her.

Their footsteps echoed even louder once they stepped into the hallway, bouncing off the walls and back to them, just as loud as they had started. The sound overpowered almost everything, but if Wingdings listened very closely, he could just make out the sounds of all their breaths.

No one spoke. Not a whisper. Not a word.

So when Wingdings finally cleared his throat, it felt like he had just shattered a ceramic dish by throwing it against the wall.

“Alphys?” he asked, and even the whisper felt like a shout.

He had forgotten to sign, but apparently the direction of his voice had been enough, because Alphys turned to face him, trying—and failing—not to look overwhelmingly nervous.

“Y-yeah?”

She did her best to smile. It wasn’t convincing.

Wingdings looked at the floor and gripped the hem of his shirt with both hands. The fabric felt soft and wrong against the empty holes in his palns.

“What was that … thing I touched?”

He signed it a few seconds later, quickly, clumsily, but apparently Alphys understood him, because when he looked back up, she was looking away, her teeth clenched on her bottom lip.

“It’s a, uh … m-magical signature p-pad,” she muttered, still without looking at him. The response was automatic, mumbled out on reflex, but Wingding still frowned as he tried to make sense of the words.

“What does it do?”

She only glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but apparently that was enough to see his signs. She fidgeted, bringing her arms close to her torso and ducking her head.

“It k-keeps doors locked, a-and opens them when t-the right m-magical signature t-touches it.”

She said it like it was normal. Like she had explained the same thing a hundred times, and there was nothing wrong with it, nothing odd, nothing to be concerned about.

But Alphys was a bad liar, and each word dripped with her anxiety, her guilt, like they had been soaking in it for days.

Wingdings let the question sit in his mouth for a few seconds, testing it, weighing it back and forth before he finally let it out, his hands moving more easily than they had in a while.

“Then why did it work when I touched it?”

Alphys opened her mouth, but her voice caught before any words could come out. She glanced at him, something unreadable in her eyes, then looked away.

Wingdings didn’t ask again.

He tried not to think about it, but the image of his hand on the “signature pad” refused to leave.

Undyne made a few comments about the space, how empty it was, how weird and creepy, but stopped when she noticed the uncomfortable look on Alphys’s face. She paused once and whispered to her, and Wingdings could only catch a couple of words, but after Alphys whispered back, Undyne went quiet and put an arm gently around her shoulders.

He didn’t like this.

He didn’t know what was wrong, he didn’t know why everyone was so … tense. But he didn’t like it. And he wanted to leave.

But everyone else was moving forward, so all he could do was follow them.

None of the lights worked right. There was enough light to see, but everything was dim, uncomfortable, like walking through a cave at sundown—even more so than the rest of the lab. The walls and floors were plain and stark, the corners so sharp they looked like they could slice into his bones. It was … cold. He knew he shouldn’t have been bothered by the temperature—he had never been before. But suddenly, now, he understood why so many other monsters had complained during the winter. The chill seemed to seep into his core, melding with his soul until he was part of it, part of the cold, part of the stiff, musty air, part of this dark, sharp place that seemed to call him in and push him out all at the same time.

Frisk looked over their shoulder, meeting his eyes and furrowing their eyebrows in concern. But they didn’t speak, and a few seconds later, they turned ahead again. Wingdings wanted to thank them for leaving him be, but he didn’t think he could have managed a single word if he wanted to.

“SANS?”

Papyrus’s voice barely sounded louder than a whisper, even in the deafening silence. He held his arms close to his body, curling himself up like he wanted to take up as little space as possible. It looked wrong on him. As uncomfortable as everything else.

Wingdings wondered if this place made him feel cold, too.

“yeah, bro?” Sans replied, his eyes still locked forward, his hands tucked so far into his pockets that it looked like they were going to disappear into an endless void.

Papyrus fidgeted and turned his head from side to side, even though there was nothing but blank walls to see.

“HAVE WE … BEEN HERE BEFORE?” he asked, and suddenly all the attention was on him, the hall even more silent than before. He swallowed, and the sound echoed around them like a gong. “I THINK I DREAMED OF THIS PLACE.”

Sans fidgeted and somehow shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets.

“… dunno.”

Papyrus huffed and threw his arms down at his sides, hands curled into fists.

“SANS, AT LEAST TRY TO REMEMBER!”

But Sans just turned his head to the side, staring at the wall. He wasn’t trying to annoy his brother. He wasn’t even intentionally ignoring him, and Papyrus knew it.

The lights in his eyes were faint now, so small they looked close to disappearing. His smile was tight, distant, holding up only because it was permanently etched into his face.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

Wingdings just had … no idea what.

He looked ahead again, focusing on the hallways, the dim lights, the feel of the floor under his feet. It was … no, he was just imagining things. He was just taking Sans’s and Papyrus’s feelings of familiarity and projecting them onto himself. He hadn’t been here before. He _couldn’t_ have been here before. This place wasn’t built until long, long after the time he had been ripped out of.

Right?

It was a coincidence. All of this, just a big coincidence. Him being pulled out of his time period instead of … whatever Sans was trying to do. Him ending up with scars he still didn’t know where he got. Finding the only two skeletons that existed who shouldn’t have been born because all the skeletons _died_ , they all died long before these two were born, except …

Had _he_ died?

No one remembered him. The Queen didn’t even remember him, and she always had before, the few times they had seen each other. She had such a gift for names and faces, even if she only saw someone once, she would never forget them, no matter what she might say. But she didn’t even recognize him.

No one recognized him.

She had asked around the entire town, all monsters, even older ones, and no one had recognized his name.

They all said that skeletons had died in the war. All of them. Every single one.

But there were two skeletons here, now, alive and young and born Underground, long after the rest of their species had supposedly passed away. Two skeletons who must have been born somehow. Two skeletons who had never mentioned where they had come from, why had they never mentioned it, why had he never _asked_? That … that was important, wasn’t it? How could there have been no skeletons alive if two skeletons existed here and now?

Except …

The Queen said that all skeletons had died. Every single one.

Then why had the door opened from his magical signature? If he had died, if he was dust when this place was built … then why … then why …

His footsteps suddenly echoed louder, even though no one else noticed a change. Everything seemed louder, like he had been half-deaf before and now he was taking in every single sound. His bones started to rattle, so he wrapped his arms around himself, holding his body close and tight, forcing himself to stay still. Frisk looked over their shoulder, furrowing their eyebrows and frowning—concerned, not frustrated—and he did his best to smile but it came out looking more pathetic than anything else.

Their eyes softened, worried, sad, but they didn’t say anything, and finally, with one last glance in his direction, they turned ahead.

He knew they wouldn’t let it go for long.

He forced himself to look at Sans and Papyrus, still walking, completely silent, their eyes ahead. They didn’t speak, didn’t look at each other, didn’t stop when they turned corners or even when they passed by rooms. They turned their heads briefly, glancing into the open doorways, but they never looked further in. Never investigated more than that one look.

Like they didn’t need to, because they had already seen what was inside.

But they had never been here before either. They had said that, right? None of them had ever been here before.

Except …

Wingdings started looking into the rooms they passed, slowing down just enough to get a good glance inside before stumbling to keep up with the group. Everything was dark, even darker than the hallways. Some of the doors were shut, but others were wide open, letting him see the gaping emptiness inside. Empty. Why was this place empty? What had it been used for?

Why had it been abandoned, apparently even before Alphys came to work here?

If he looked at one long enough, he swore he could see shapes inside. Not real, they disappeared as soon as he blinked, but they were there, different every time, but almost always present. A desk. A bench. A chair. A … machine?

Lots of machines.

Tables with tools strewn about.

Enormous glass tubes, stretching from ceiling to floor.

Then he could hear voices, voices that weren’t there but they _were_ , too muffled and distant to make out the words. Two quiet ones, higher-pitched, and one … one older. Deeper. Still quiet, but cutting, striking through the air like a knife.

That voice sounded closer than the others. Like it was in his head. Like it was …

“WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings jolted.

He stumbled, struggling to catch his balance, but managed to keep himself from falling. For a second, he just breathed, shaking his haze of thoughts away, forcing himself back into the present moment.

Then he looked up, toward the voice that had called his name.

Everyone was staring at him. They were in front of him now, all of them. He hadn’t noticed them moving so far ahead. He hadn’t noticed himself stopping in the middle of the hall. He looked to each of them, one at a time, the confusion, the concern, the …

Papyrus stepped a little closer, only a couple of steps away now, his head tilted, his browbone creased in worry.

He had seen that look before. So many times. He had seen it before, of course he had seen it before, but …

“WINGDINGS?” Papyrus broke in again, leaning in further. “WHAT’S WRONG? YOU LOOK UPSET.”

Wingdings’s mouth fell open, open and closed, open and closed, a few more times before he finally managed to get a word out.

“I …”

But he didn’t finish. He couldn’t finish. The words died in his throat, and it felt like none would ever come up again.

Because his eyes were locked on Papyrus’s hands, reaching out toward him, hesitating in the air between them.

Hands that were wrapped in thick red gloves.

Gloves.

Why was Papyrus wearing gloves?

Why had he never noticed that before? Why had he never … he’d seen it, but he’d brushed it off, it wasn’t important, some people liked to wear gloves, that was it, but Papyrus never took them off, not _once,_ and—

Sans.

Sans’s right hand was stuck in his pocket.

Had Wingdings ever seen him take it out?

Yes, yes, he had, but … Sans had been wearing gloves, too, hadn’t he? Just a few times. Just when he needed both his hands free.

Wingdings had never seen his bare hands.

He had never seen either of their bare hands.

It shouldn’t have been important, it shouldn’t have stuck out, but now he couldn’t shake it, he couldn’t brush it off, he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter but he was already walking toward them, standing in front of them, reaching for Papyrus’s hand, Papyrus was talking, Sans, Undyne, Frisk, Alphys, but all Wingdings could focus on was the feeling of Papyrus’s hand through the thick red gloves.

The feeling of something hard on the back, the corners poking into the fabric.

And before he could hear Papyrus’s protests, before he could tell himself that he was making a mistake, he grabbed the glove and tugged it off.

The metal plate stared back at him like a living being, slightly dulled and scratched around the edges, but otherwise almost new. He swore he could feel the screws in each of the four corners digging into the bones of his own hand. But his eyes only lingered for a second, before they fell on the letters engraved in the middle, like an artist signing their work.

WDG 2-P.

WDG 2-P.

WD.

Wingdings.

Wingdings … Gaster.

Wingdings Gaster … 2-P.

Two. Papyrus.

Two.

Two.

_Two._

_“Subject Two is an idiot.”_

_“You’re lucky he hinges his emotional stability on you, it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”_

_“Under other circumstances, it’d be sufficient to punish only you, Subject One, but your frailty makes it difficult.”_

_“Should either of you ever even think of using blue magic on me, for any reason, there will be consequences.”_

_“You are constructs, artificial beings created following a monster’s blueprint.”_

_“I should have been more careful with my wording. Things cannot be brothers.”_

_“I. Will not. Fail.”_

Wingdings didn’t notice he was falling until he crashed into the floor.

A hand reached toward him, voices getting closer, and he scrambled back, back, back, back until he reached the wall and pressed up against it, breathing so hard his chest hurt, his soul pounding, panic pulsing through him like lightning.

Pain.

Pain in his hands, pain in his face, he was burning, like something was stabbing into him over and over but it wasn’t stabbing it was a light, light, pain, noise, machine, laser, cutting through his hand, once, twice, a hand grabbing his, yanking him forward until his face hit the beams, the beams he put there, the beams he used to keep them in, the beams they tried to turn off but they couldn’t turn off they were trapped he had trapped them he took them out and strapped them down and they screamed screamed _screamed_ —

Screaming.

Someone was screaming.

Hands were on him, voices all around him, and he jerked back, his throat hurt, he could barely breathe from the noise coming out of his mouth, that was _him,_ his voice, screaming so loud he thought it might shatter his skull.

He tried to breathe, tried to force the air in, but then he was breathing too fast, too hard, and it hurt, everything hurt, he could still feel the burning in his hands and his face and his soul, it was cracking, he could _feel_ it cracking and he swore he was going to split in two.

Split in two.

He had split himself in two.

In three.

He had torn out part of his body and those parts had grown, grown into their own beings, they were part of himself but now they weren’t, they were people, and he had … he had …

Bare feet moved ahead of him, claws scraping against the hard floor.

Alphys.

Dr. Alphys, his … she …

He could feel her coming closer, reaching out for him, even though he didn’t dare open his eyes. He didn’t need to. He had seen that look on her face a thousand times already.

“Gaster … Dr. Gaster, what’s wr—”

The words stopped in her throat like they had been yanked out, like she had suddenly seen them and tried to pull them back, but they were out there, out in the open, and everyone could see them.

Everyone could hear them.

Alphys’s next breath came like she was drowning, sucking in air like she had been starved for it.

“Oh my god.” She stumbled back, tripping over her own feet until she tripped and fell onto the floor, huffing, panting, hyperventilating, every breath trembling as it slipped past her teeth. “Oh my _god._ ”

More feet moved, someone shuffled across the floor, light feet but heavy steps.

“Alphys? Alphys, what is it?”

But Alphys just kept huffing and Wingdings opened his eyes, just a little, just enough to see her, hands on her head, holding it like she was afraid it would fly off her shoulders, Undyne kneeling at her side, but Alphys staring ahead, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face as she tried and failed to get control.

“Oh my god …”

She was sobbing now, breathing painfully fast, and Undyne was holding her, shaking her, trying to snap her out of it, but Alphys just fell deeper in, Alphys, Dr. Alphys, he had done this to her, he had put her through this, she wouldn’t be hurting if it wasn’t for him and all he had ever wanted to do was help her, keep her away from his mistakes, and she was …

They were …

Wingdings’s eyes shifted, landed on the two skeletons standing only a few steps away, both of them staring at him, their eyes blown wide, their bodies scarily still.

He could still hear the echo of them rattling, out of fear, out of pain, out of a desperate hope that it might make him stop.

Sans’s eyelights were gone, his sockets empty and black, the light dying before it reached the inside of his skull. His smile looked it had been carved onto his face with a knife, and he hadn’t done that, he knew he hadn’t, he had never done a thing to that smile, but he could feel the scalpel in his hands, feel the drill, feel the button he pushed to activate the laser that _broke his right eye—_

“SANS?”

Papyrus’s voice shattered the silence, shattered the trance, and Alphys’s sobs were still there, Undyne’s attempts to comfort her, but Papyrus didn’t see them, didn’t hear them, he just stared at his brother like he was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The only person that mattered in the world.

The only one who cared about him.

The only one who ever had.

“BROTHER?” he asked again, and his voice was so shaky, shakier than Wingdings had ever heard it but … no, he had heard it like that before, so many times, shivering, trembling, but always kind, even when he was angry, even when everything had been ripped away from him, even when his voice rang out into the lab, begging not to be left alone—

Sans blinked. Once. Twice. Then his head moved, bit by bit, twitching slowly to the side until he was looking at his brother, his eyes still dark, but his smile beginning to tremble at the corners, breaking the shape carved into his face.

“… papyrus?”

Papyrus.

2-P.

Subject Two.

The whirring of a saw as he pleaded for him to make a good choice.

The drill powering up as wide eyes stared at him from his spot trapped to a table.

The hopeful smile. The bright eyes. The panicked begging, the gentle persuasion, the belief in him that never wavered, no matter how many times he …

Two wide, pained sockets watching him as he fell, reaching out, trying to grab him, his hand flickering with blue magic before the ingrained fear made him freeze, just a few seconds too long.

The feeling of hands on his side, pushing him over the edge of the bridge, down into the boiling lava below.

Heat.

Pain.

Darkness.

And more pain.

For so, so long.

Screaming.

This time, it was his own.

His voice shifted, carried over, and now he was here, now, sitting by the wall, curled up in a ball, screaming so hard it hurt. No one tried to touch him. No one tried to talk. Alphys sobbed into Undyne’s shoulder, and Sans and Papyrus stood there, their bones rattling as their world crashed down around them.

And Frisk … Frisk the human, Frisk who had convinced him that he had been right about humans, even now, as the centuries of memories and pain hit him like a boulder … all Frisk could do was watch.

The world crumbled, and Wingdings clung to the feeling of his bones rattling, the pain in his hands and face, the tears streaming down his cheekbones, the magic slipping into the cracks. He felt the smooth solidity of the wall at his back and the floor under his feet, and he held on tighter than he ever had before.

It was all he had left.

Everything else was gone. His family. His village.

His friends.

His life.

His … children.

They were all gone.

And he had been the one to destroy them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand I'm back! With the last four chapters! :D
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for all your incredibly sweet comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Warnings for angst, references to torture, and slightly worse language than usual. Also, I won't go into details, but now that we've reached a certain part of this story, I can reveal that certain aspects of this were inspired by [ASL Tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6859165/chapters/15656608) by Octosan. If you like Handplates and you haven't read it, seriously, go read it. It's fantastic.

The world was collapsing.

Every bit of it, every piece of it, crumbling, falling, shattering into dust around him.

Or, at least, that was how it felt, as Sans stood there, staring at his brother, as the tiny skeleton in the corner of his eye sobbed so hard it hurt to hear.

Tiny skeleton.

Fragile, scared, just a little kid.

A little kid who had grown up, punched holes in both his hands, and used those pieces of himself to make two more little skeletons, for the sole purpose of putting them through hell.

He could feel himself being yanked between memories, forward and backward, watching the shy, nervous kid who had been living in his house for weeks turn into the hardened man who would have done just about anything _because people needed him to._ The kid who cried at the thought of his people dying to the man who wouldn’t bat an eye at two kids screaming in pain. The kid who he held in his arms, the kid who he comforted, the kid who he brought with him to sleep in his brother’s bed—

Throwing his brother into the wall, cracking his bones in two, pushing him to the brink of death, all to make a point.

It felt like something in him was dying, and something else—something as old as he was, older than any of his memories—was yawning awake after years of lying dormant.

Pain. Fear. Concern. Guilt.

Guilt, over and over and over again, watching his brother walk out of the cell, glancing over his shoulder, flashing smiles,  _EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY, _ but he would come back hours later with bandages and winces and a forced grin and Sans would pour himself into healing and it  _wouldn’t do a thing._

Then sometimes it would be him, led down the hall, following without question for fear of what would happen if he didn’t, spitting out every sarcastic jibe he could come up with just to keep himself from thinking about what was going to happen, but even though he feared the pain to come, at least it was  _him,_ at least his brother could  _rest_ and be  _safe,_ at least he could finally  _take_ some of it for him.

But he would never suffer as much as his brother. Never.

Because he  _wasn’t strong enough._

Because even when he was hurt bad, it never lasted because his brother always healed him. Fully. Not even a trace of the old pain left.

Except his eye.

His eye.

His eye that had never worked and he had just thought he was born defective, he thought it would just a  _part_ of him, but it wasn’t, it hadn’t been, he had had both his eyes and he could  _remember_ what it felt like and he would never …

He would never …

Bone clicked against the floor, and Sans blinked out of his trance, his eyes snapping down to see Papyrus on his knees, scooting closer to the kid. His eyes shone with the same confusion swirling in Sans’s head, but they were still soft. Gentle.

Worried.

“WINGDINGS?”

He said the name just like he had always said it before. It sounded so  _normal,_ but they both knew it wasn’t, all of them knew it wasn’t but he was trying so  _damn hard_ to sound like everything was fine.

It wasn’t fine. Sans didn’t know if it would ever be fine again.

But Papyrus kept moving forward, stretching his arms out, trying to lay a hand on his shoulder.

His fingers were shaking.

“WINGDINGS, IT’S … IT’S OKAY, YOU’RE—”

But before he could touch him, Wingdings cried out like he had been burned and jerked out of his reach, curling himself up even tighter against the wall. Papyrus froze, hands out, eyes wide, flickering orange before going dark again. His hands lingered for a few more seconds, then dropped back to his side.

For another minute, none of them moved. Papyrus sat there, watching Wingdings with so much pain in his eyes that it hurt to look at. It had always hurt to look at, but now … now—

He didn’t deserve it.

That kid—no, not a kid, not  _really_ a kid—didn’t deserve one tiny  _ounce_ of his brother’s concern.

He never had.

But Papyrus gave it anyway.

That was what he had always done.

It took all of that minute for Sans to force his head to move, to look over his shoulder at the three people standing behind them, riding the wake of this psychological tsunami. It took another few seconds for his eyes to focus, to come back to the present, to this … place. The place that had seemed so empty a few minutes ago, but now felt like it was going to burst from all the memories it held.

Frisk was the calmest, as usual. Sans knew that they were anything but unemotional, but it was so rare to see them break down, or even come close to it. They were so small, but looked like they could carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and still keep their smile.

They weren’t smiling now, though.

They stared at him, worried, sad, and more than a little confused, but they didn’t speak. Smart thing they were, they must have known it was useless.

Undyne was … Sans didn’t even know how to read her face. She was still half-focused on comforting Alphys, but her eyes had lifted from her girlfriend and fallen on the rest of them, searching for something she knew nothing about. And she didn’t know anything about this, did she? She had never been involved. She might have known  _of_ Him, but she hadn’t known Him well. Not enough to trigger any memories that had been stuffed somewhere deep inside her head.

Alphys … Alphys had known Him, she had been close to Him. That was why she had found them, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember what she had said, he couldn’t understand her then, but he could remember the look on her face when she saw them in that cell. The confusion, the shock, the … horror.

The horror when she saw the metal plate, drilled into Papyrus’s hand.

She had known how wrong it was. And she had gotten them out, she had taken them to safety, she had given them their first real chance at freedom.

And then she had forgotten them. Forgotten everything.

Just like they had.

Just like everyone.

Sans had pushed Him over the edge, into the bubbling lava below, and everyone had just … forgotten.

Including him.

He and his brother had lived their whole lives down here, and they had forgotten everything about it.

And everything about it, to them, at the time, had been … almost everything they knew.

Except … except each other.

Sans turned his head back to his brother, but Papyrus was still staring at Wingdings, his eyes wide, pained, and so, so lost. Watching that kid like he was just that: a little kid.

But he wasn’t.

Sans knew that. He had known that for a long time.

And now … now Papyrus knew it, too.

But even as Sans waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for him to realize who he was looking at, even as he stood in the silence, eyes latched onto his brother’s face, holding his breath … it never did.

Frisk was the first one to move. To shatter the quiet and suggest they head back. It was barely more than a whisper, but no one missed it, even if none of them could bring themselves to reply.

Undyne took her trembling girlfriend by her shoulders and led her out the door, Frisk trailing behind them. Sans followed, then Papyrus, a few seconds later.

They were already out in the hall, starting back through the dim corridors toward the main part of the lab, when the last pair of soft, shuffling footsteps finally joined them.

It took a long, long time to get home. Or maybe it didn’t take that long at all, and it just seemed like longer because of the weight they were all carrying on their backs. There was no bounding down the mountain like Papyrus had done the first time they left the Underground. There were no shouts of joy or races to the bottom. There wasn’t even a word spoken. They all just walked, trodding along, step by step, trying their best to keep moving.

Moving was all they could do.

Wingdings hung at the back of the group, and no one tried to get him to catch up. Papyrus clearly wanted to, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure that they hadn’t lost him, but he seemed to know that it was useless to try to get him to move faster. Wingdings walked, but his eyes remained locked on the ground in front of him, his arms wrapped around his tiny body, like he was trying to hold himself together.

Sans pictured a boulder balanced on his back, dragged along with him with every step.

He imagined it crushing him.

The thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he would have hoped.

Once they reached the bottom of the mountain, they had to wait for what felt like hours for the bus to arrive, even though it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. Not many people came out here nowadays—the human hype around “the mountain where monsters came from” had died down months ago, and most monsters didn’t see a reason to visit their old home—so the bus was nearly empty. On the way there, Wingdings had spent the entire ride with his face pressed up against the window, marveling at how fast the world moved by, peppering Alphys with questions every minute about how the bus worked, what made it run, how it had been invented, and anything else he could think of.

Just like Papyrus had done the first time he got to ride in a car.

Now none of them looked out the window, at least not with any sort of enthusiasm. Undyne was still focused on Alphys, and Alphys was focused on … beating herself up, by the looks of it. Sans didn’t completely understand why she felt so guilty, but the memories were still sorting themselves out in his head, and besides, he hadn’t seen much of her back then.

She had saved them, though. She had gotten them out. Given them a chance for the life they had now.

But there had been a reason she had been in that lab. She had known Him.

Maybe they had even been friends.

And if she had known Him for a while … if she had known Him all the time they had been there …

If she had any idea how long they had been there, what they had suffered through before she finally decided to come poking around …

He still wouldn’t blame her, though. He didn’t know how he would feel later, not for sure, but … he couldn’t blame her now.

Alphys wasn’t perfect, and she had made more than a few mistakes. But he couldn’t imagine her standing over someone, blank-faced, while they screamed in pain. And maybe that wasn’t a very high standard to set, but it was still a standard, and she definitely met it.

Frisk sat in their own row, just in front of Wingdings, and looked over their shoulder at least once every minute to check on him, while still obviously doing their best to give him space. Seeing them silent was nothing new. They were an observer, like him, and they knew when it was best to fade into the background and wait until they could be more helpful.

Sans would have to explain this to them, at some point. Them and Undyne. Maybe even Alphys, since she had missed so much.

And Tori. God, he was going to have to tell Tori.

Would she remember things, too, like the rest of them? She had known Him, hadn’t she? Of course she had, she had hinted at it several times, he had seen it in her eyes, she had  _known_ Him, she had just … forgotten.

He didn’t know what had triggered everything flooding back all at once, and maybe the same thing wouldn’t happen for people who weren’t there. Maybe it had been the lab that had set all of them off, but Toriel didn’t have any memories of the lab. At least … no, no, she  _definitely_ didn’t. He knew Tori. She wasn’t like that.

But then again … he thought he had known Wingdings, too.

The kid looked the same now, in so many ways, sitting in his own row, head hung low, body curled up so small that he might have been swallowed up by the seat. He didn’t look like the guy who had … hurt them. He had the cracks on his face and the holes in his hands, but everything else was the same.

Except his eyes. The more Sans looked at his good eye, wide and empty, staring down at his lap, even from a distance, the more he could see the years that stretched far past the age of his body.

The more he could see the horrors reflected back at him.

The war, the deaths of the other skeletons, the simple facts turned into tangible experiences, forever carved into his skull.

The time spent Underground.

And the torture he had inflicted on two kids who had never known anything else.

His body was the same, but his soul had aged centuries, and all his forgotten crimes had crushed it like a bug.

Sans sat next to his brother the entire way home—he didn’t think he could have left him if someone tried to drag him away—but neither of them spoke. What the hell were they supposed to say? There were a million things running through Sans’s head, but none of them made enough sense to put into words. It was like trying to sort through a bucket—no, a barrel—full of cooked spaghetti, wriggly and tangled and covered in way too much sauce.

So he said nothing, and soaked in Papyrus’s presence, savoring this moment of quiet—painful as it might be—before everything fell apart.

Wingdings didn’t run up to his room when they got back to the house. He walked, slow and steady, moving like someone half-dead. It was only when his door clicked shut—but didn’t lock—that Tori stepped out of the kitchen, oven mitts on both her hands, an expectant smile on her face.

Sans treasured that smile, because, just as he expected, it was gone within two seconds.

He doubted it would come back for a long, long time.

She was demanding explanations, no anger in her voice, just concern, almost panic, triggered by the sheer weight of what she must have felt in the air. Seen on their faces. Sans had just started to wonder how the hell he was supposed to even start when Frisk stepped forward, took their mom’s hand, and led her, silently, into her room.

Even when they broke the barrier, Sans had never been more grateful to that kid in his life.

Undyne picked up Alphys and carried her back to her room, locking the door behind her. It wasn’t the first time Alphys had had a breakdown—usually from something related to her Amalgamate-guilt—and it wasn’t the first time Undyne had spent the day comforting her.

Still. Sans had a feeling this was probably the worst case yet.

Sans didn’t need to turn around to feel Papyrus following him when he walked up the stairs himself. Each step felt like he was lifting a boulder, but as much as he wanted to just collapse where he was and stay there for the foreseeable future … he didn’t think he could have made himself stop moving.

If he stopped moving, he would have to deal with it.

If he stopped moving, he would have to talk.

And he knew he was going to have to do that anyway. But he was going to savor every second before shit hit the fan.

He paused at the top of the stairs, just long enough to look between his door and Papyrus’s, before heading toward his. It was closer, and it felt more secure, somehow, giving him some small sense of normalcy, of control, even when he felt the whole world collapsing around him.

This was his room, in his new house, in his new life. The life he had built with his family and all his new friends.

This was his life. And no one was going to take it away from him.

He stopped in the middle of his floor, junk scattered all around him. He listened to Papyrus’s boots stop just inside the door, then push it shut behind him.

Sans wished he would have locked it, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask him to.

They stood there for what felt like several minutes, or maybe it was just a few seconds. Time felt … different now. Sans knew it had been more than a year since they came to the surface, and much longer than that since they had been out of the lab. That was ancient history now—for them, at least. It was a world away. But no matter how many times he told himself that, he still felt like they had only just climbed out of the shadows of that torture chamber, out into the light of the sun.

It should have felt comforting, bright and warm, but Sans just felt like he was standing in the middle of a flame.

Papyrus cleared his throat, and the sound shattered the haze Sans had allowed to settle around him. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and forced himself to turn around, taking in his brother like the most welcome sight in the world.

Which he was.

Even now, when just looking at him made a hundred more memories rush through his head, almost too fast for him to see.

They stared at each other, so much passing between them without even a single word spoken aloud. The way they used to communicate when He was around, when they wanted to share something but didn’t want Him to hear it.

But it was different now. So much had changed since then. Their words were different, their bodies, their lives.

And so much was the same.

Papyrus opened his mouth, paused, and closed it, glancing to the side before holding himself even straighter, like he was putting his thoughts together piece by piece, sorting through them until they settled into something that just might make sense.

Then he opened his mouth again.

“HE’S OUR DAD.”

The words fell into the silence like rocks smashing into a thin layer of ice on a lake. There was no cracking, no splintering, no warning. Just a single, momentary crash and a hole in its wake, shattering the barrier between the freezing water and the air above.

Sans had to struggle to get in his next breath.

“no he’s not.”

“YES HE IS,” Papyrus threw back, even louder than before, and suddenly everything was splintering, holes appearing everywhere, threaten to crumble the sorry excuse for a wall Sans had built up. “HE … HE MADE US, SANS.”

Sans grit his teeth and felt his fingers curl into tight fists.

“yeah, and then he … he _tortured_ us, bro, he put us through hell, he almost _killed_ us, _dads don’t do that!_ ”

Papyrus’s mouth fell open, the words in his throat dying as he struggled to get them out. But he kept trying, kept pushing, standing up taller and squaring his shoulders like this was a fight he had a chance of winning, instead of one they had both already lost.

“HE’S STILL OUR DAD!” he forced out, then worked his mouth for a few seconds, dropping his eyes to the floor. “EVEN IF HE … EVEN IF HE HURT US, HE’S STILL …”

He trailed off. Sans’s teeth grit so hard he swore they were going to crack under the pressure.

“no. he’s not.”

Papyrus lifted his eyes, looked at him, pleading without words, but Sans was already shaking his head, huffing out all the air inside him only to suck it back in again.

“you remember what he did to us, papyrus. what he did to _you._ over and over and over for … for our whole lives—”

“HE DIDN’T DO IT AT FIRST—”

“ _what does that matter?!_ ” Sans shouted, so loud it hurt his throat, the words echoing around them, making them both freeze as they settled into the air and tainted it. Sans panted, trembled, fought the flicker of blue trying to glow in his good eye. His good eye. The one eye that glowed because … the other had … because _he_ had … “he _did_ it, he put us through … we begged him to stop, _you_ begged him to stop—”

“AND HE DID!” Papyrus cut in, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, though no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t stay up. “HE DID STOP. AT THE END. HE DID STOP. HE FINALLY STOPPED AND WE GOT OUT AND THINGS WERE GOING TO BE OKAY AND THEN YOU … YOU …”

The smile was gone now, Papyrus’s eyes wide, his shoulders dropped, the memories hitting him like a pile of rocks dropped on his head. Sans wanted to look away. He didn’t want to see Papyrus stare at him like that, didn’t want to see the judgment building more every second.

Didn’t want to see the disappointment, growing from a spec into a mountain in front of his eyes.

But he kept his gaze ahead, forced himself to keep looking, and stood up as tall as he could.

“i got rid of him,” he said, and to his credit, his voice only shook a little. “i did what i had to keep us safe.”

Papyrus gritted his teeth, far more in pain than in anger.

“YOU KILLED HIM!”

“yeah, so we could _live_!” Sans spat back, and he hated himself when Papyrus flinched, but he couldn’t take it back. “he would have found us again! he _always_ found us!”

“BUT HE STOPPED HURTING US!” Papyrus tried again.

Sans huffed a humorless laugh. “for a few days! what’s a few days after how long he …”

His words trailed off, and for a second he just stood there, letting the memories wash over him. He didn’t even have a sense of time back then. There were days, yes, but only because the lights went on and off. Only because  _He_ had to live by those days. They didn’t even have words for the passage of time like He did. They could have been there years and they would never even know.

Years.  _Years_ compared to what he now guessed was around a week.

A week of no torture. A week of no pain.

One flimsy little week.

“he would have started again,” Sans said, and the words sounded almost as sure as he felt. “he always started again.”

Papyrus shook his head, a faint whine slipping past his clenched teeth. “HE CHANGED! HE REALLY CHANGED!”

“how do you know?!”

“I JUST DO!”

Their voices hung in the air long after they had stopped echoing, and the silence that followed was like water pressing down on them, supporting them, crushing them, like that stuff that had suspended them in the tubes. They breathed, huffing air in and out, struggling to stay afloat, even though Sans could feel them splitting at the seams.

“we wouldn’t be here if i hadn’t done it,” he went on, much quieter, more of a plea than anything else. “we would have … we would have gone back with him, we never would have stayed with asgore or lived in snowdin or … or gotten up here.”

Papyrus lowered his eyes, shaking his head. His hands clasped in front of him, one of them still ungloved. He hadn’t bothered to put it back on after Wingdings took it off, and the metal plate shimmered so brightly it hurt to look at.

“MAYBE WE WOULD HAVE. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED,” he murmured, as much to himself as to Sans, like he was still figuring things out. He looked up again, his whole face softer. “AND HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ALIVE.”

Sans huffed through gritted teeth.

“well, he’s plenty alive now.”

He had said it so quietly that he wasn’t even sure if Papyrus would hear him. But he did, of course. And even with his eyes on the floor, Sans could see him moving, standing up taller, straighter, hope burning in his eyes like a fire all its own.

“YES. HE IS. AND HE HAS ANOTHER CHANCE. HE … HE’S HERE NOW, AND HE’S WITH US, AND HE’S GOOD, AND HE CAN—”

“you want him to _stay_ here?” Sans all but spat, jerking his head up to face his brother with eyes so wide they hurt.

Papyrus stared back at him with just as much shock.

“OF COURSE I DO! WHERE ELSE WOULD HE GO?”

“anywhere!” Sans breathed, his voice coming out much louder than he had intended. He threw his arms out to either side, like he was gesturing to the entire planet. “throw him out on the streets and let him figure it out for himself! maybe it would give him a taste of what he did to us! or maybe we could take out a drill and show him—”

“SANS!”

Papyrus’s voice snapped Sans out of the trance he hadn’t even felt himself falling into, and he blinked, forcing his mind back to the present moment. Where he was here, with his brother, safe and happy and …

… and sharing a house with the person who had tortured them.

The person who Sans had brought back from the dead.

Papyrus stared at him, eyes wide and pleading, searching for something Sans couldn’t name.

“YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT,” he said, and there was a question there, hidden underneath the fake certainty. “I KNOW YOU. YOU’D NEVER DO THAT.”

Sans looked back at his brother for a few long seconds, then dropped his head, shaking it.

“not so sure about that now,” he muttered, only realizing as the words came out how much he meant it. He shook his head. “i’ve never … i don’t know if i’ve ever been this angry.”

Papyrus’s mouth twitched up at the corners, forming a hesitant, nervous smile filled with so much hope it hurt to look at.

“IT’S OKAY TO BE ANGRY,” he said, his voice so quiet, so gentle, so … reassuring, even though it fixed nothing. He took a step forward, lifting his hands out in front of him, like he was ready to pull Sans into a hug. “TORIEL SAYS THAT IT’S HEALTHY SOMETIMES. AS LONG AS YOU DON’T LET IT CONTROL YOU. BEING ANGRY MEANS THAT YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT BEING TREATED RIGHT AND YOU WANT SOMETHING BETTER.”

He stood there for a second, his arms still out, but Sans didn’t move, and finally, Papyrus let his arms fall back to his side. His smile stayed.

“BUT WE HAVE SOMETHING BETTER NOW. WE HAVE A WHOLE NEW LIFE HERE.”

He took another step, but Sans pulled his own arms close to his body, making himself even smaller and dropping his head so he didn’t have to see his brother’s face.

“and now he’s going to ruin it.”

Papyrus stopped where he was. For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything, but Sans could feel his eyes burning into his head. Not angry. Not even irritated. Just … hopeful. Hopeful and sad and so lost.

“HE HASN’T RUINED IT SO FAR.”

“he’s been here a few weeks, bro,” Sans shot back, and couldn’t stop himself from meeting his eyes, his smile so tight it felt like it had been carved into the bone. “there’s nothing to say he won’t start ruining it now.”

Papyrus frowned, his face twisting painfully. “WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?”

“why did he do _any_ of the stuff he did to us?”

Papyrus paused, mouth wide open, jaw hanging so loose it looked like it was going to fall off his skull. Finally, he closed it, staring off to the side with a deep furrow in the center of his browbone.

“I … I DON’T KNOW,” he murmured, something like defeat in his voice, and Sans hated it, even though all he wanted was for his brother to accept the facts. Then Papyrus looked up again, his teeth pressed tight together. “BUT I DON’T THINK THIS … VERSION OF HIM HAS ANY OF THE SAME REASONS.”

He glanced at the wall, the one closest to the guest room, and his eyes softened further.

“I DON’T THINK HE WANTS TO HURT US,” he went on, then turned his eyes back to Sans and nodded. “I _KNOW_ HE DOESN’T WANT TO HURT US.”

Sans swore he could feel himself sinking into the carpet. He knew it was impossible. He knew the floor was holding him up just as well as it always had. But his legs felt like jelly instead of bone and he just wanted to collapse into a pile of goo and let himself disappear.

But he couldn’t do that, so he just stood there, breathing long and deep and shaking his head again.

“i don’t know how you can have so much faith in him,” he muttered, in something between frustration and fondness. “he’s never given you any reason to.”

Papyrus huffed a laugh. There was no humor in it, and it sounded weird, coming from his mouth. It was the closest to sarcasm Sans had heard from him … maybe ever, or at least a long time. He shook his head, his eyes falling on a random spot on the floor.

“IT’S NOT EASY SOMETIMES,” he murmured, and he sounded so tired, so damn tired, that Sans felt himself sink a little more, guilty, despite himself. Then Papyrus looked up again, smiling now, small and weak but definitely a smile. “BUT I STILL DO. I BELIEVE IN HIM. I BELIEVE THAT HE DID BETTER BEFORE, AND HE CAN DO BETTER NOW. HE’S ALREADY DOING BETTER. HE JUST HAS TO … KEEP DOING IT.”

He smiled wider, apparently waiting for Sans’s response, and Sans dropped his head before that smile could carve itself into his head. He listened to his breathing, to his brother’s breathing, and it felt like that was the only thing holding him up. The only thing grounding him to this moment, when all he wanted to do was float away and forget all of this had ever happened.

“SANS?”

Sans grit his teeth, his hands—he hadn’t even noticed them curling into fists—trembling at his sides. He ducked his head lower, trying to find the same spot Papyrus had been staring at before.

“SANS, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE THINKING.”

Sans pressed his teeth together harder still and shook his head, forcing it up, meeting his brother’s soft, worried gaze.

“what do you _think_ i’m thinking, papyrus?” he forced out, his voice somewhere between a growl and hiss, but somehow … softer. Like he didn’t have the energy to express the tension slowly building in his bones. “we finally got away from that place. we finally got the life we wanted, where we were safe and happy and … together. and now the guy who tortured us, made our lives hell for all of what could pass as our childhood, is back from the dead, living here in our house.”

“HE’S HERE BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE,” Papyrus said with another step forward.

Sans’s smile tightened. “oh, so it’s my fault then?”

“IT’S NOT ANYONE’S FAULT!” Papyrus pressed back, his eyes flickering in desperation. “IT’S NOT A BAD THING!”

Sans swore his teeth were going to shatter from all the pressure he put on them.

“how can you say that? after all he did to you, did to _us,_ how can you say that?!”>

“BECAUSE HE’S NOT THE SAME NOW!” Papyrus all but shouted. He paused, waiting for Sans to cut him off, but Sans just waited. Papyrus sucked in an unsteady breath and shook his head. “HE CHANGED BEFORE, AND EVEN IF … EVEN IF HE DIDN’T THEN, HE DEFINITELY HAS NOW!”

Another pause. Still, Sans remained silent. Papyrus shifted, trying so hard to keep himself standing tall, even though it looked like the world was trying to suck him down into the carpet, too.

“YOU’VE SEEN HIM, SANS. HE’S JUST A CHILD. JUST A CHILD, LIKE WE WERE. HE HASN’T DONE ANYTHING YET.”

He opened his mouth again, ready to go on, but Sans was already shaking his head, his hands trembling so hard he could hear his bones starting to rattle.

“it doesn’t work that way, bro, it’s still _him,_ it’s just … it’s just a kid’s body, we—”

“STOP IT, SANS. JUST STOP IT,” Papyrus cut him off, and all Sans could do was stand there, the words ready to fall from his mouth, as Papyrus stood up taller, took a big step forward, and stared down at him, his eyes so hard and soft at the same time that Sans didn’t know what to make of them. “YOU SAW HIM, JUST LIKE I DID. YOU SAW HOW UPSET HE WAS. HE NEVER GOT THAT UPSET. NEVER! HE WAS CRYING, HE WAS SCARED, HE LOOKED AT US LIKE … LIKE WE WERE THE SADDEST THING HE’D EVER SEEN, AND HE FELT BAD ABOUT IT, HE HATED ALL THE THINGS HE DID AND HE DOESN’T WANT TO DO THEM ANYMORE AND … WE CAN FINALLY HAVE IT, SANS. THE FAMILY WE WANTED.”

“the family _you_ wanted,” Sans corrected, his voice coming out more tired and weak than he had expected. “i never wanted him.”

Papyrus’s mouth set in a tight line. “YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT TRUE.”

Sans swallowed a frustrated noise growing in his throat and lifted his head further.

“and so what if it’s not?” he asked, voice tripping with something acidic. “yeah, i believed in him, for a little while. i thought he might not be so bad. and then he ruined it. destroyed it, tore it apart, piece by tiny piece, and then he …”

Then he …

Sans looked down at his right hand, hanging limp at his side.

Looked down at the metal plate and the screws that he could finally remember being drilled into his bone.

“it’s still him,” he muttered, as much an affirmation to himself as to his brother. “it doesn’t matter how old he is or … thinks he is. it’s still _him._ ”

“BUT THIS VERSION OF HIM HASN’T DONE ANYTHING,” Papyrus kept going, he wasn’t hearing him, he wouldn’t _listen._ “HE HASN’T … CHANGED YET. HE USED TO BE GOOD, SANS. YOU CAN SEE THAT! HE’S GOOD NOW! HE WAS GOOD THEN, AND ALPHYS KNEW HIM, SHE SAID HIS NAME, THEY WERE FRIENDS, SHE WOULDN’T HAVE LIKED HIM IF THERE WASN’T SOMETHING GOOD IN HIM!”

“i don’t _care_ if there’s something good in him!” Sans spat, the acid all but flying from his mouth now, and Papyrus stepped back, eyes wide, and it hurt, it _hurt_ to see that look on his brother’s face but he couldn’t stop, not now, not until he _got_ it. “being good at some point in your life doesn’t erase all the bad things you’ve done!”

Papyrus stared for a second, a long, long second, then stood up straighter again, his expression set on his face.

“AND BEING BAD SOMETIMES DOESN’T ERASE ALL THE GOOD!”

“what good?!” Sans threw his arms out to his sides, like he—the kid who wasn’t a kid—was actually here to gesture to. “we’re not talking about who he was when he was a kid, papyrus! we’re talking about who he grew into. everything good you see in him now? that’s _gone._ that disappeared when he made us, he said it himself, you _told_ me, everything good in him went into us. there’s nothing left, nothing good, nothing worth saving. i should have left him in that void where he belongs!”

The words hung in the air like poison, both of them breathing it in and choking on it, but Sans didn’t care. He didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Even about his brother, standing in front of him, staring, like he had just shattered something deep inside him he had always thought was secure.

Except … Sans knew that wasn’t true.

He knew he could never really stop caring, no matter how tired he was.

And he couldn’t lie and say that seeing his brother looking at him like that didn’t feel like a knife being stabbed through his soul.

“NO ONE DESERVES TO BE ALONE, SANS,” Papyrus said, so quiet it was painful to listen to, making him strain every part of himself to hear it properly. It was blank, monotone, and distant, like Papyrus was somewhere far away and this was a recording, a voicemail, _HELLO YOU’VE REACHED THE GREAT PAPYRUS, PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE._ “NO ONE.”

Sans felt his smile trembling, threatening to break, and not for the first time—so many things weren’t for the first time, so many “firsts” he had forgotten until now—he would have given anything to be able to wipe it off his face.

“yeah. and no kid deserves to have metal plates drilled into their hands.”

Papyrus’s didn’t reply. His eyes shifted, back and forth, back and forth, snapping from one emotion to another until he was a jumbled mess of too many to count. Sans’s hands trembled as hard as his grin.

“the world’s not fair, papyrus,” he murmured, turning to face the door again, reaching his hand out to touch the knob. “he definitely wasn’t.”

He opened the door so fast it almost hit him in the face, but he stepped out slower, like he was waiting for something. And sure enough, just before his foot touched the carpet of the hall, Papyrus’s voice carried after him, soft, like it was riding on a breeze, even though the house was still.

“WE’RE NOT HIM.”

Sans felt the words prick at his bones, poking like needles, never chipping, never breaking. Just tapping. Brushing. Making sure he knew they were there.

He bit back the shiver threatening to work its way up his spine.

Then he closed his eyes and shortcut out of the house.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are amazing - thank you so much for all your kind reviews!! <3 Hope you enjoy the aftermath ;)

In over a year, the house had never been so quiet.

Papyrus hated it. He wasn’t a big fan of quiet in general—was that because he was naturally so loud, or was that because of how often “quiet” had meant “alone”?—but this was … worse than usual.

He wasn’t alone. There were people here. All the people he loved. The family he had found, the family he had pieced together one by one until he could almost forget they had ever _not_ been together.

But the quiet felt so thick, so heavy, that he almost thought it would crush him.

Sans had stayed out of the house for a few hours after their conversation, then reappeared sometime after Papyrus left his room, closing the door and locking it, staying there for the rest of the day. So had Wingdings, and Alphys and Undyne. Toriel had come out around dinnertime, Frisk at her side, and found Papyrus alone at the table, twiddling his fingers in front of the meal he had prepared, already getting cold.

She tried to smile at him, but her lips trembled, and when he looked more closely, he could see the faint rims of red around her eyes. The only sign left that she had been crying.

The quiet got just a little heavier, and Papyrus struggled to breathe under its weight.

No one talked about what had happened, but none of them needed to—even though Papyrus knew that all of their experiences must have been at least a little different. He knew that what he remembered of … Him was different than the others. Different than Alphys. Different than Toriel.

He could put together the pieces, though, even though most of the pieces were still missing. He remembered the expressions on Alphys’s face when she saw them in the cell. Remembered the way she snuck them around what he now knew was Hotland, into the elevator. The gestures she had made, trying to communicate without words.

How she had made her face look like His after she stopped them from pressing one of the buttons.

The button that led to Him.

She had known Him. Maybe they had even been friends.

Toriel … she must have known Him, too. They had both lived through the war, hadn’t they? And Wingdings had known her before then, too. He had recognized her, even if it was just as the queen. He had known her, and Papyrus guessed He had come to know her much better sometime later.

No one had confirmed it yet, but they didn’t need to. Papyrus could see it in Toriel’s eyes, as she stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the closed door of the guest room.

Papyrus wondered if she had any idea what He had done, after she had disappeared into the Ruins.

He wondered if there was a way they could avoid telling her.

Papyrus didn’t think even Alphys knew the whole story. Not yet. She had seen so little, after all. Just them, in the cell, a couple of times. She had looked upset, but … he didn’t think she had much of an idea what had happened before she arrived.

He didn’t really want to tell her either. She was upset enough as it was.

So Papyrus stayed by himself most of the day, when he wasn’t getting meals ready or sitting at the table, hoping he wouldn’t have to eat alone. He sat in his room, on the edge of his bed, and let his thoughts wander more than they had in … well, a very long time. He couldn’t remember ever having so many thoughts. So many memories. Two lives that had been almost completely separate before and now mixed like someone had poured half a glass of water and half a glass of oil into one cup, and now they were swirling together, bubbles of one, bubbles of the other, separate even as they touched and mingled.

He wondered if they would ever truly combine.

A few hours had passed since lunch—and a few hours still remained until dinner—when Papyrus felt something … shift in the room. At first, he tensed, eyes locked on the floor, listening for a hint of what had changed. Even though part of him already knew.

Then, after a long moment, he lifted his head and turned it to the right.

And found himself looking at Sans, standing just inside his door.

A few days ago, Papyrus might have shouted at him, told him how rude it was to just show up in someone’s room without even bothering to knock. He wouldn’t have been surprised—Sans had done it before, and Papyrus had learned to expect it—but it was still rude, and he would be lax in his role as the responsible brother if he didn’t point it out.

But now he just sat there, staring at Sans, while Sans stared at the floor, his eyesockets empty, his whole body limp, legs barely holding him off the ground.

Papyrus sat there, waiting as patiently as he could for his brother to speak. But he didn’t. He started to lift his head a few times, but always stopped before he could meet Papyrus’s eyes. If he hadn’t been breathing, Papyrus would have thought he was about to Fall Down.

It must have been several minutes before Papyrus finally sighed, very quietly, and patted the bed next to him. Sans hesitated, but his feet moved as if on their own will, and then he was sitting at Papyrus’s side, just a few inches away, close enough to hug.

So that was exactly what Papyrus did.

He pulled his brother close to him, as close as he could and then closer still, squeezing him just gently enough to not hurt him, but tightly enough that he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. Wouldn’t be able to think he was still alone in any sense of the word. Wouldn’t be able to feel anything but the warmth of his bones, the thrum of his soul, the love of his brother soaking into him as easily as the air he breathed.

And Papyrus let himself feel the same, the pain, the fear, the guilt, the  _love_ coming off of his brother in waves. The fear of the past, the fear of the future. The fear of where they would go from here, now that the past they had once sought so desperately had finally caught up to them. Now that they had found this new life, the new life they  _wouldn’t_ leave behind, but the new life that would never be the same, now that they knew where they had come from.

Now that they knew how they had ended up here in the first place.

Now that they realized that everything they had thought they had lost … had never existed in the first place.

Yesterday’s anger had faded, almost as quickly as it had come. He couldn’t be angry anymore. He didn’t have it in him. He didn’t want to be angry right now, when it felt like his whole world was collapsing in on itself.

And … he understood. Kind of. As much as he ever could.

He would never be able to feel the bitterness Sans did, but it was easier, looking back at everything from a distance, to see where it had come from.

To see how someone who experienced the world just a little differently would have felt in the midst of it.

How that someone would feel now, when that past came back like a rubber band to smack him in the face.

He didn’t know how long they sat there. Neither of them had work today, and Papyrus never looked at the clock. He would have sat there for an eternity, holding his brother close, feeling him breathe, the thrum of their souls matching up until they might as well have been one and the same.

He would have, if someone hadn’t knocked on the door.

Sans flinched, but didn’t move. Didn’t look up, and definitely didn’t move to look at the door. Papyrus lifted his head, slowly, tiredly, like he was coming out of a deep sleep. He opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat, and tried again.

“COME IN.”

For a second, there was silence. Stillness.

Then the knob turned, and the door creaked open.

Papyrus couldn’t bring himself to be even a little surprised to see the skeleton standing on the other side. But that didn’t stop the rush of relief, mixed with anxiety, that washed over him in a wave.

Sans was like stone in his arms, but Papyrus didn’t look down, or let him go.

The smile on his mouth was shakier than he would have liked, but he held it up nonetheless.

“HELLO, WINGDINGS,” he said, his voice unusually quiet. Gentle. “ARE YOU FEELING ANY BETTER?”

Wingdings looked at him. Just looked at him, for a long, long few seconds. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Not even a sound.

Like he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Like he couldn’t have made his voice work, even if the words were there.

He stood there for another minute, staring at Papyrus as Papyrus stared back at him. Papyrus felt his brother’s stare matching his own, harder, colder, but not as sharp as it might have been the day before. Maybe he was too tired to be so angry. Or maybe he just didn’t want to show it when Papyrus was around to see.

Finally, Wingdings cleared his throat, fidgeting, clenching the hem of his shirt so tight it looked like he was going to rip it in two. He opened his mouth again, then closed it, then opened it, one more time. Papyrus waited, arm around his brother, with all the patience he had ever held.

Wingdings’s breath came out shivering, like a sigh carrying all the chill built up in his bones.

“I wanted to … I wanted to say sorry, but I … I don’t think it’s enough.”

He tried to look at them, to meet their eyes, but couldn’t manage it for more than a few seconds at a time. Still, Papyrus saw enough in those few seconds to piece together the new picture, the new  _person_ in front of them. Everything that was different. Everything that was the same.

The eyes that held memories of hundreds of years, but the innocence of someone who had only lived through nine.

Wingdings shook his head, clenching his teeth as a slight whine slipped past them.

“I don’t think there’s a word that will … say what I want to say,” he went on, staring at the floor, his good eye so wide it looked painful. “I mean … I  _am_ sorry. I’m … I’ve never been more sorry for anything in my whole life, I just … I know it’s not good enough but I still have to say it because if I don’t I …” 

His voice choked off, and he froze for a second, not even breathing, like he couldn’t remember how, like every part of him had stopped, locked in place as he struggled to figure out how to move.

Then he breathed in, once, deep, trembling, and shook his head again as the air slipped back out his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he went on, barely louder than a whisper, as much to himself as to them. He lifted his head, met Papyrus’s eyes again, even though it obviously pained him. He held himself tall and straight and strong, even as an invisible weight threatened to crush him. “But I have to say it. I can’t do anything else until I’ve said it even if it doesn’t fix anything but …”

This time, his voice cracked, and he floundered, trying to keep talking, but again, no words came out. He whimpered, clenching his teeth together, shutting his eyes and dropping his head, more helpless than Papyrus had seen anyone in a long, long time.

He looked so much like Sans. His face was different, the line of his jaw, his one good eye, but there was so much of Sans in there. So much that Papyrus had never had the chance to see before.

Sans leaned against him, warm and heavy and real, and Papyrus tugged him closer, running his hand over his shoulder and arm, a silent reassurance.

“IT’S OKAY, WINGDINGS.”

He tried to sound sure of himself—and he thought he did—but the words had barely left his mouth before Wingdings was shaking his head, harder, faster, so forceful it looked like it hurt.

“No, it’s not,” he pushed back, and there was anger in his voice, different than the anger that had shown up when he learned about the war. Anger turned inward, eating away at him from the inside out, burning him like acid poured into his skull. “It’ll never be okay again, but I … I can at least make it so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

Papyrus blinked. He felt Sans stiffen at his side, but didn’t look down to see his expression. He wasn’t sure he would like what he would find.

It took a few seconds for Wingdings’s words to fully register, and by the time they did, by the time he opened his mouth, Wingdings was already talking again.

“I’ll go back to the mountain. There’s … there are places there I could stay, they’ll be … I can live there. It’ll be far away from both of you so you never have to see me, and … a-and if you want to visit the Underground and you don’t want to see me, I can get out of your way then too! I’ll make sure you never have to see me again, I—”

“WE DON’T WANT YOU TO LEAVE, WINGDINGS.”

Papyrus forced the words out as soon as his voice came back to him, as soon as his mind started working properly, and they hung in the air like moisture, soaking further in with every breath they took.

Wingdings blinked. Just once. Papyrus had never noticed how strange it looked, blinking with only one eye.

He wondered if Wingdings would answer him, if he asked what had happened to the other one.

Wingdings hesitated, staring at him like he had just said that he was going to make a pie out of sweaters and cheese and Sans’s dirty socks. Then he frowned.

“Yes you do.”

His eye flicked down to Sans, just for a second, a tiny instant, but Papyrus couldn’t have missed it if he wanted to.

He felt his own mouth curling into a frown. He still didn’t look down at Sans, but he tightened his grip on him, rubbing his fingers over his arm, reassuring, promising they would talk later, promising that he would stand by his side no matter what happened, no matter what he said that might make Sans believe otherwise.

“NOT ALL OF US DO.”

He half-expected Sans to speak up then, to say that yes, Wingdings should leave, he should go somewhere far away, even further than the mountain, go far, far away and never even think of coming back.

But Sans said nothing. Papyrus felt his stare, locked on the not-child by the door, but he never said a word.

Wingdings opened his mouth, closed it, then dropped his head and sighed.

“I still think I should leave.”

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO,” Papyrus pressed, and let just a little of the desperation slip into his voice. It wasn’t as desperate as it had been before, when he was younger. He had made his life now, a full and happy life without the one he had once been so desperate to have love him.

But he hadn’t remembered him then. He hadn’t known who he was missing, hadn’t known what could fill that empty space in his soul.

Now he knew, and though he could imagine his life without him … he still didn’t want to.

Wingdings grit his teeth, shaking his head, a faint whine slipping out of his throat.

“But I  _should,_ ” he replied, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Papyrus. Like he was trying to drill it into his head, drill it in like the screws he had forced through Papyrus’s hand, trying to make himself hurt as much as he had hurt them. “After all I did, it’s … I’m lucky to even be alive.” 

The bones of his hands rattled, his fingers still clinging to the hem of a shirt like he might cling to a stuffed animal. Like Papyrus had clung to his brother so many times in the darkness of their cell.

He stared at the ground, his gaze far away, like he was looking at something Papyrus would never be able to see.

“I shouldn’t be alive. Or … not here.”

And for the first time, Papyrus realized that Wingdings had been dead. He had  _died._ He had fallen into that pit of lava and sunk in and he had  _died._

And Sans had brought him back.

From death? From some kind of afterlife?

Was that where he had been?

What kind of machine had Sans made that would pull someone out of an afterlife?

What kind of afterlife would make Wingdings look so … haunted?

Wingdings drew in another breath, sharp, sudden, and shook his head, more slowly now, like he was trying to wake himself up but something was still trying to pull him down.

“I don’t … it all still feels fuzzy. There’s a lot I don’t remember,” he murmured. He blinked, once, twice, then looked up, looking at Papyrus, taking him in, reminding himself where he was,  _when_ he was. Like it wasn’t obvious. Like the memories were too thick and heavy to fully distinguish from reality. He breathed again, then his face set. “But I know the things I did to both of you. I know how much I … and I know there’s more, so much more and I don’t want to know what it is but I  _have_ to because how can I apologize for something I don’t even remember?”

He searched Papyrus’s face, looking for something Papyrus couldn’t name. Sans shifted against his side, and Papyrus reached his other arm around to hold him closer still.

He looked at Wingdings and shook his head.

“YOU DON’T NEED TO. THAT’S … THOSE ARE THINGS ANOTHER YOU DID. NOT THIS YOU.”

Wingdings huffed a breath that Papyrus barely recognized as a laugh. He looked away again, a sad smile on his mouth, and for a split second, he looked just as old as his memories.

Just as worn. Just as defeated.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he went on, like that fact was more extraordinary than everything else that had happened to him. “You’re still too good for everyone. Too good for me.”

His voice was so soft. Had he ever spoken that softly, that gently, when he had been Him?

Yes. Yes, he had. It wasn’t much, but Papyrus could remember it now. He could remember the pain in his voice every time Papyrus did something that surprised him. Something that Sans said he  _shouldn’t_ do, because bad people didn’t deserve kindness, didn’t deserve mercy, but  _everyone_ deserved mercy, Papyrus believed that, he always had and now he was sure he always would.

Sometimes he thought that mercy was what had hurt Him more than anything else.

Sometimes he wondered if his mercy was crueler than anything Sans had done or said.

Wingdings laughed again, just as breathy, just as sad. He stared at them, his good eye wide with wonder, filled with … admiration? Pride? No, it wasn’t pride. Pride meant you were taking some credit for what you were admiring, and Papyrus knew that Wingdings wouldn’t take even a bit.

He tilted his head, his sad smile just a little wider.

“I … did I ever say anything good about you? Either of you?”

It was a question, but not one that expected much of an answer. Papyrus wanted to tell him yes, wanted to reassure him, but his voice wouldn’t work. He was never very good at lying.

Sans was much, much better at it, but of course, he was silent.

Wingdings didn’t stop smiling, but the smile somehow got sadder.

“I … I didn’t think so,” he muttered, unsurprised. He hesitated, then held himself a little taller, like he wanted to make sure his next words came out right. “I just … I wanted to say … that you’re both really … amazing. I mean … even with all the stuff I did, I … was so horrible, but you both still turned out so …”

He put his hands out in front of him, palms up, holes bared wide and empty, like he was trying to express something but couldn’t find the words.

He shook his head, slow and wondrous.

“I … I don’t know how you came from me. Because you’re both so great. You’re … you’re smart and you’re nice and you forgive things you never ever should and …”

He paused again, mouth open, hands out, before he finally dropped them and let his teeth click shut. He shook his head again, even slower than before.

“I never deserved you. Not for one second,” he murmured, to himself as much as to them, like he was trying to drill it into his head. Remind himself of his crimes so there was no chance he could forget them. “I was so lucky, I got the best kids in the whole world and I ruined  _everything_ and …” 

Wingdings stared at the floor as his words trailed off. He took another few seconds, breathing in and out, grounding himself in the present, before he lifted his head and looked at them.

No. Not them.

Not at Papyrus.

“I’m … I’m glad you pushed me, Sans,” he went on, and though his voice trembled, he didn’t glance away, didn’t waver under Sans’s returning gaze. “You deserved so much better than I ever could have given you.”

Papyrus didn’t look down at his brother, but he didn’t need to. He could feel the stiffening of Sans’s bones, feel the flickering of something inside him, like he was trying to make sense of this as much as Papyrus.

Like he was trying to reconcile this child apologizing with everything they had suffered through before.

The person this child had been in the past they only barely remembered.

Wingdings kept his head up a few seconds longer, then dropped it again, like the shame was dragging him down.

“I know that … nothing I can say will make up for … all the horrible stuff I did. But … I want you to know … just in case you … don’t know … that it wasn’t your fault. It was never, ever your fault, it was all me, I was awful, I was the worst father anyone could ever have but you’re both so great anyway. Anyone would have been lucky to have you. The luckiest parent in the world.”

His voice was soft at the end, barely a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that even Papyrus didn’t know what to make of it. He sat there, waiting for him to go on, but Wingdings went quiet, still hanging his head, still staring at the floor, like he had accepted his fate and was now just waiting for judgment.

And all Papyrus could do was stare.

Part of him couldn’t believe it was real. It was a small part of him, a part that he usually shoved down so deep he wasn’t aware of it. The part that had grown bitter and hard and cold after being hurt so many times, after failing to change His mind  _so many times,_ the part that grew just a little stronger every time Sans told him that he was wasting his time. That He would never change.

The part he had all but forgotten about until now.

That part was louder now, louder than it had been in a long time. But it was small, and weak, throwing out its last ditch effort at taking control before fading into nothing.

And then there was just Papyrus, the rest of him, sitting there, eyes blown wide, as the words soaked into him like water into a sponge.

Then the water was outside him, growing in his eye sockets, trailing down his cheekbones, dripping onto Sans’s head. And Wingdings was staring, stiff, panicked, arms held close to his chest, his mouth bobbing open and shut for a few seconds before he managed to get out a word.

“P-Papyrus?”

It was a question, a plea, and Papyrus knew he should answer it, but he couldn’t make his own voice work either. He couldn’t even open his mouth. It was all he could do to stop himself from breaking down in sobs.

Wingdings started shaking, his whole body, then his head, gently, slowly. Worried. Apologetic. Terrified that he had somehow made things worse.

“I … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“THAT’S ALL I WANTED.”

Papyrus didn’t even recognize the words in his head until they were out, but he didn’t regret them. Wingdings froze, his mouth still open, the rest of his words sitting on the edge of his teeth.

The tears kept falling, thicker, heavier, faster, and they burned and ached and it was undoubtedly the most wonderful thing Papyrus had ever felt.

His brother shifted against him, and Papyrus held him close, savoring the familiar warmth of his soul close to his own.

All three of them. Here. Together.

Safe.

“THAT’S ALL I EVER WANTED, BACK THEN,” he finally managed to go on. He swallowed a few of the tears, even though more immediately rushed up to take their place. “I WANTED … I WANTED YOU TO STOP HURTING US, AND I WANTED … I WANTED YOU TO BE PROUD OF US.”

He felt his face soften, his eyes flicker a bright, warm orange, even as Wingdings kept staring, just as startled as before.

“TO LOVE US.”

He was smiling, and it felt gentle and kind, but Wingdings looked like he had been smacked across the face. He stared for a second longer, then ducked his head. Ashamed. Sadder than anyone who looked so small and young should ever be.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give it you.”

“YOU’RE GIVING IT TO US NOW,” Papyrus cut in, before he could go further, before he could fall any deeper into the pit of his own guilt. “YOU’RE HERE _NOW,_ AND IT’S EVERYTHING I WANTED.” 

Wingdings clearly didn’t want to look up. But he seemed to think he had to, and though Papyrus wished his reasons were different, he wasn’t going to, as he had once heard an older human say, “look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Even if he still didn’t really know what that meant.

“EVEN IF YOU’RE SMALLER NOW, EVEN IF YOU’RE YOUNGER, THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED,” he went on, sitting up straighter, something hopeful and as old as he was burning in his chest. “I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, I KNEW YOU COULD BE GOOD AND NICE AND YOU _ARE._ YOU CAN DO BETTER NOW. YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER, BETTER THAN I EVER IMAGINED, YOU’RE ALREADY DOING IT, YOU JUST HAVE TO _KEEP_ DOING IT.” 

Sans was stiff in his arms, like a doll, or one of those plastic skeletons he had seen once in a party decoration shop. But he was warm and solid and alive and Papyrus clung to him, as long as he could. Clung to the person who had always been there as he stared at the person he had always hoped would exist.

His face softened further, and Wingdings stared back, his good eye so wide it didn’t look real.

“WE CAN BE HAPPY NOW. ALL OF US. TOGETHER.”

And for a few seconds, they stayed there, frozen in the moment, basking in the warmth of hope. Hope that Papyrus didn’t think he had ever felt so fully, not even when He had stopped hurting them, not even before He had put in the plates. He looked at this child and saw everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever wished for.

He saw the life part of him had always believed, somewhere deep down, that they could have.

Then Wingdings pressed his teeth into a tight line and dropped his head.

“No. We can’t.”

Papyrus stiffened, held Sans tighter, forced himself to keep smiling even as he shook his head in forced denial. “WE _CAN,_ WE’RE … WE’RE ALREADY DOING IT, WE JUST DON’T STOP, WE—” 

“We can’t be happy like this, Papyrus,” Wingdings cut him off, so calm, so quiet, but sounding so much older than anything he had said so far. So much like the person he had been before, but without the coldness, without the cruelty. He met Papyrus’s eyes, just for a second. Then his eyes fell, and Papyrus barely had enough time to realize he was looking at Sans. “Not all of us.”

There was no accusation in his voice. No anger. No frustration or irritation or anything but … acceptance.

Guilt.

Grief, for what might have been, and what had been lost a long time ago.

Papyrus didn’t look at his brother. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to risk the chance that his expression would say something he didn’t mean. Because he wasn’t angry either, no matter what his face might have said. He might have been, once. He might have tried to convince Sans that he needed to forgive Wingdings for the crimes of his future—past?—self, might have tried to tell him that things were better now, they could let the past go, they could forget about the bad things and focus on the good in the present.

He would have done all those things once, but he wouldn’t anymore.

He  _couldn’t_ anymore.

Because he wasn’t that kid in the cell anymore, with no one in his life but his brother and the person who had made him. He wasn’t so desperate for love and affection like he had been then. He had friends now. He had a family. He had a life and a job and a home, all his own.

And even though he didn’t regret his belief in the person who had made him—who had hurt him—didn’t regret doing everything he could to give him a second chance, to help him be good …

… he also couldn’t blame Sans like he had before.

He still didn’t understand Sans. Not completely. He probably never would. They were different people, with different views of the world, different priorities, who wanted and needed different things. But he  _knew_ Sans, even better than he had back in the lab. He could see his pain, better than he ever had before. And he knew that Sans wasn’t going to change, either.

And that was okay.

What Sans felt was okay.

He had been hurt, and he was mad about it. He didn’t want to forgive the person who had hurt them. And all of that was okay.

Papyrus tugged his brother closer to him, ran a hand over his spine, telling him what his face and his words couldn’t.

And before he could open his mouth, before he could even begin to think of what to say, Wingdings looked up again.

He was shaking, but his eyes remained locked on Sans.

“It’s not your fault, Sans,” he said, somehow sounding equally like his other self, in the lab, and like the child who could hardly conceive of his own actions. “Nothing was. It was always mine. I could have given us a happy life, but I … I made a different choice. I made the wrong choice.”

Papyrus didn’t know how, but he swore he could feel Sans’s gaze, locked on Wingdings in turn. He couldn’t tell whether it was soft or hard, warm or cold, or somewhere in between, and he didn’t look to see. It didn’t matter. Or, well … it did, but it didn’t change anything for Papyrus. Whatever was on his brother’s face, Papyrus kept on holding him, warm and secure.

He loved his brother. And nothing he could do or say was ever going to change that.

And apparently, whatever Wingdings saw on Sans’s face didn’t change anything for him either.

He stood there, looking back at Sans, shaking yet fearless, holding his gaze despite the pain Papyrus could see in his eyes.

“You should never have to live with someone who put you through that,” Wingdings finished, quiet and absolutely sure.

Papyrus felt his own shoulders sag, his arms tight but his body limp, the warmth and the hope seeping out of him like someone had squeezed the sponge out onto the floor.

“WINGDINGS … ”

But Wingdings was smiling now. It was small and weak, and it trembled as hard as he did, but he smiled, looking back and forth between Papyrus and Sans with such pride and love and sadness that it made Papyrus’s soul feel like it was cracking in two.

“You’ll be happier without me,” he went on, so sure, so confident, so … assured. Like he was happy he could do something for them, happy he could fix something, even if it meant him leaving. “All of you. Once I’m gone, you can try to forget this ever happened. You can enjoy your new life. Everything will be okay.”

His smile twitched, falling into a frown before he forced it back up into a smile.

And for that second, that one split second, Papyrus could see the echo of the old Him, lingering behind the smile. Behind the affection and the kindness and the overwhelming guilt.

He could see the hand raised, grasping the drill.

Hear the whir of the bit, cutting through the air like a knife.

Feel the unnatural chill in the air, the hard determination gleaming in the one good eye, the last bit of empathy, of hesitation, the last hint of care slip away like water through a drain.

_You should be scared of me._

Wingdings trembled, like He had trembled, but Wingdings was smiling, his eyes soft and sure and more at peace than He had ever been.

“Everything will be okay.”

Papyrus opened his mouth, a thousand words in his throat, everything he had ever wanted to say and now he could say it, he could say it all and Wingdings would listen, he would hear it, he would feel all the pain and the love that He had blocked out for far too long.

But before Papyrus could manage even a sound, Wingdings turned and walked away.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ... am very curious as to all your theories for where this will go. One thing I can clear up right now is that Wingdings isn't immediately making a run for it. He knows he wants to leave but isn't really sure where to go. So we've got a little time ... enter this chapter. ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for all your kind comments!!

Papyrus probably thought he was asleep by now.

Honestly, if he hadn’t been in his own body, if he had been standing there, looking at himself, _he_ probably would have thought he was asleep. Asleep with his eyes open, sure, but he had done that before. Probably. Hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember. It would fit him, though. Too lazy to even close his eyes.

He wished he could sleep. Sleeping would be so much easier.

If he slept, he wouldn’t have to think. Or, well, he wouldn’t have to  _consciously_ think. He was sure his dreams would do plenty of the thinking for him, and it probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

Or maybe he’d get lucky and have that dream that he was floating in an Olympic-size pool full of ketchup. That one was fun.

But of course, sleep never came when he really wanted it to. Not nowadays, anyway. And of course, he could never fake it quite well enough to convince the person who knew him best.

“SANS.”

Still, though. He had hoped to avoid it for a little longer.

He stayed silent, didn’t move, barely even breathed, but Papyrus’s arms tightened around him, comforting, but also restricting, and he let out a long, heavy breath.

“WE NEED TO TALK.”

Sans waited a few more seconds, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He couldn’t fool his brother. Not about this. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to fool his brother about anything. Not now. Not anymore.

He huffed out all the air in his body, and it came out so loud it might as well have been a shout.

“yeah, i know,” he muttered, shifting in Papyrus’s hold, but not sitting up. He would talk, but that didn’t mean he had to move. “isn’t gonna make it any easier, tho.”

Papyrus moved his arms a little. Pulling him closer. Silent comfort that worked far better than it should.

“I THINK IT WILL BE WORTH IT. EVEN IF IT ISN’T EASY.”

Sans huffed a sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t been so tired.

“yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than to his brother. “you always were the responsible one.”

Another squeeze, gentler then before.

“YES, A LOT OF THE TIME,” Papyrus agreed. He paused, shifting a little further onto the bed, like he was pulling them both back from the edge. Like they might fall somewhere further than the floor. “BUT YOU CAN BE VERY RESPONSIBLE, TOO.”

Sans raised half his browbone at that. He didn’t look up, and he wasn’t sure if Papyrus saw, but regardless, a second later, he went on, like he was responding.

“YOU ALWAYS PUT ME FIRST, EVEN WHEN IT HURT YOU. YOU ALWAYS MADE SURE THAT I WAS OKAY, EVEN IF YOU WEREN’T.”

Sans felt himself tense, like he was going to argue. But the argument never came. After a few seconds, he settled deeper into his brother’s arms, the stiffness in his bones slipping away, finally given up on protesting after what felt like a lifetime of keeping up the facade.

Papyrus ran his fingers over his spine, pausing over every bump, every ridge, like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I DON’T WANT TO KEEP DOING THIS, SANS. KEEPING THINGS FROM EACH OTHER. HIDING BECAUSE WE’RE SCARED OF HURTING EACH OTHER,” he went on, his hand brushing up to where Sans’s neck met his skull, then moving to cup his throat, holding his head against his chest. Close enough to hear his soul. “I KNOW YOU WANT TO PROTECT ME. BUT … IT HURTS. IT HURTS WHEN YOU KEEP THINGS FROM ME. IT FEELS LIKE YOU DON’T TRUST ME.”

Sans started to respond—even if he had almost no idea what he was going to say—but before he could get out a word, Papyrus squeezed him, as tight as he safely could, leaning down to rest his cheekbone against the top of his head.

“I KNOW YOU DO. I KNOW YOU JUST WANT TO KEEP ME SAFE. BUT … I WANT TO KEEP YOU SAFE, TOO. NOT BECAUSE OF YOUR HP OR BECAUSE YOU’RE SMALL BUT BECAUSE … YOU’RE MY BROTHER. YOU WERE THE FIRST PERSON WHO EVER CARED ABOUT ME.”

He pressed a little closer, turned his head so his teeth brushed against Sans’s skull in the closest he could manage to a kiss.

“AND I LOVE YOU.”

Sans’s breath hitched, and he swallowed hard before shifting even closer, leaning his face into his shoulder and neck.

“love you, too, bro.”

His voice came out barely louder than a whisper, but he felt the words in his bones, into his very soul, like they had been engraved there. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, and it wouldn’t be the last. But there was something warm and real and heavy about it now that burned in deep, almost painful, but the best kind of pain in the world.

It was funny, how it took him this long to realize how much love could hurt.

“DID I EVER TELL YOU THAT I YELLED AT HIM?” Papyrus asked, when a minute had gone by with silence as thick as water. “AFTER HE … BROKE YOUR EYE.”

Sans shifted, uncomfortable, but not enough to pull away.

“you kept saying it was an accident. that he didn’t mean to.”

He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He really did. He didn’t even feel it anymore—it was so old and dull and distant, he only just now remembered that he  _had_ been bitter. But old habits died hard, apparently, and he felt Papyrus tense up, just a little, as soon as the words left his mouth. He started to say something else, some sort of apology, something to minimize the damage, but before he could get out a word, Papyrus was already speaking.

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT AT FIRST. I GOT … REALLY MAD AT HIM. MORE MAD THAT I EVER GOT AT HIM, I THINK.”

He said it slowly, quietly, like he barely remembered it himself. Sans let his own words die in his throat, tilting his head up, though not quite enough to see his brother’s face.

He waited. He listened.

Papyrus hesitated, then sighed.

“I DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE UP ON HIM, THOUGH. BECAUSE … IF I GAVE UP ON HIM … IT FELT LIKE I WAS GIVING UP ON EVERYTHING. HE WAS THE ONLY OTHER PERSON WE HAD. HE WAS … ALL WE EVER KNEW.”

His hand settled on the center of Sans’s spine, and Sans could feel every one of his fingers, resting carefully against the bone.

“AND I DIDN’T BELIEVE THAT THE PERSON WHO MADE US DIDN’T HAVE GOOD IN HIM. AT LEAST … A LITTLE. SOMEWHERE.”

He sighed again, humming, and said nothing else. The words didn’t come so easily to Sans this time. He waited a minute, letting the silence settle in, losing himself in the thrum of his brother’s soul, the warmth of his bones.

“well. guess you were right,” he muttered at last, trying to force a little humor into his words. It didn’t work, and they came out as flat as they felt. “even if this part of him was stuffed so deep it might as well have been the center of the earth.”

He didn’t expect Papyrus to laugh. He didn’t even laugh himself. But there was no anger, no irritation, not even any rolling of the eyes—because Sans would have heard that, even if he didn’t lift his head to see it.

Papyrus hummed again, thoughtful, calm, understanding, his hand pressing a little harder, warm and solid and secure.

“IT’S OKAY THAT YOU DIDN’T SEE IT,” he replied, with so much acceptance in his voice that it almost hurt. “SOMETIMES … SOMETIMES EVEN I DIDN’T SEE IT. SOMETIMES I LOOKED SO HARD, AS HARD AS I COULD, BUT ALL I COULD SEE WAS COLD. SOMETIMES I THOUGHT THAT THE GOOD PART OF HIM REALLY WAS GONE, AND THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT, AND WE WOULD BE DOWN THERE FOREVER AND HE WOULD KEEP HURTING US AND … AND …”

His voice cracked, and he held Sans even tighter, clinging to him like he had so many times in the dark silence of the cell. Sans held him in return, wrapping his arms as far around him as he could. It wasn’t much. He had felt so useless then, so helpless, and he felt just as helpless now.

No one was coming to hurt them. No one was going to take them away.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t pain. Pain Sans still had no way to keep away from the person he loved most.

After a few seconds, Papyrus relaxed again, the tension leaking out of his body as quickly as it ever did.

“I COULDN’T DO THAT FOR LONG, THOUGH,” he went on, with a hint of a laugh, without any humor in it. “BECAUSE IF I DID … I WOULD GIVE UP. AND I WOULD BE EMPTY. AND … AND YOU NEEDED ME TO BE STRONG. I NEEDED YOU AND YOU NEEDED ME.”

Suddenly, Sans couldn’t imagine how he had ever forgotten this. How he had ever forgotten what it was like to only have one person in the world, and to be the only person in the world to him in return. How he had forgotten what it was like to live in darkness, in constant fear and pain, clinging to the only good in his life in a desperate attempt to stay sane.

Never knowing if they would get out. Never knowing if they would have a semblance of a normal life.

Not even knowing what a normal life was.

“i don’t know what it would have been like, if you have given up,” he murmured, the words manifesting in his head only as they came out of his mouth. “i guess i always imagined it differently. i thought that … if you realized it was pointless to believe in him … we could fight him together.”

He huffed a laugh, and though it felt empty, hollow, cold, it came out on its own, without him even having to force it.

“and maybe we could have. but then i would have lost you. even if we got out together, i still would have lost you.”

Papyrus didn’t say anything. Not at first. He just kept holding him, and somehow that was more reassuring than any words he could have strung together. In that moment, it didn’t matter whether they were on the surface or Underground, in Papyrus’s bedroom or an empty cell in a lab. Nothing mattered but each other. And they were together. As long as they were together, everything would be okay.

Sans’s eyes had already begun to close when Papyrus finally sighed again.

“YOU’LL ALWAYS BE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN MY LIFE, YOU KNOW.”

Sans paused, sockets half-lidded, smile frozen in something between genuine and forced. He tilted his head up a little further, so he could see his brother’s chin, and he imagined that gave him an idea of the expression he was wearing. Maybe he didn’t need to see it to know it, after all this time. Maybe the tone of his voice said enough on its own.

Papyrus shook his head, slowly, gently.

“I KNOW WE BOTH HAVE OTHER PEOPLE NOW, AND … AND THAT’S GOOD, WE BOTH HAVE OTHER PEOPLE WHO CAN … HELP US, DO THINGS FOR US, IT’S GOOD THAT WE CAN HAVE OUR OWN LIVES, BUT … YOU’LL ALWAYS BE THE MOST IMPORTANT.” He tilted his own head down, and Sans imagined him staring at his forehead, since he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “AND YOU’RE ENOUGH. YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN ENOUGH. I THINK I … I ALWAYS WANTED HIM THERE, EVEN WHEN I DIDN’T REMEMBER HIM, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS HIM SO I KEPT WANTING SOMEONE ELSE EVEN THOUGH I DIDN’T KNOW WHO IT WAS.”

Sans could feel Papyrus’s mouth still hanging open, like he could keep going on forever, and honestly, he wouldn’t have minded that. Maybe he would have drowned out the actual words after a while, but he’d found, over a long, long time, that there wasn’t a sound in the world more comforting than his brother’s voice.

The silence felt thick and heavy, like they were floating in the liquid that had suspended them in their early days, the ones that even now, Sans could barely remember. Or maybe a bowl of pudding. Chocolate pudding. Yeah, that was a lot nicer to imagine.

Papyrus’s arms adjusted around him, even though Sans was anything but uncomfortable. He sighed again.

“BUT IT WAS NEVER BECAUSE OF YOU. NO ONE COULD HAVE FILLED THAT … THAT EMPTY PLACE. NO MATTER WHO THEY WERE.”

He leaned his head down to press his cheekbone to the top of Sans’s skull. He rubbed it there, back and forth, like he was trying to get even closer.

“YOU WERE ALWAYS ENOUGH, THOUGH. I KNOW THAT NOW. EVEN IF HE LEAVES, EVEN IF EVERYONE LEAVES … YOU’LL ALWAYS BE ENOUGH FOR ME.”

Sans didn’t even realize there was a knot of tension sitting in his chest until he felt it begin to loosen. Bit by bit, softer and softer, until a few seconds later, it was gone, smoothed out and vanished into the air, like it had never been there at all.

And it was like someone had pulled out a rock in his throat that had been choking him for years, allowing him to breathe just enough to keep going, and now he was sucking in all the air his body had been missing, filling him up to the brim until he thought he might burst.

His breath hitched, but he swallowed the tears before they could reach his eyes.

He leaned against his brother, feeling lighter than he ever had, calmer than he usually felt even on the verge of sleep. Papyrus’s skull pressed closer to his own, and Sans shifted so he could press back.

“ND IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY, HIM NOT BEING HERE … I’M NOT GOING TO LIE, I WANT HIM TO STAY, BUT … I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY MORE THAN THAT,” Papyrus went on, so quiet, so soft, almost unlike him, but at the same time, wonderfully familiar. His arms tightened so much they hurt, and Sans savored every second. “MORE THAN ANYTHING.”

The words should have been welcome. They should have been perfect, exactly what he wanted, that  _was_ what he wanted, wasn’t it? He thought so. Or … he thought so before.

But now, even as he basked in the warmth, the presence of the person he loved most in the world, all he could hear was the tinge of sadness in his voice. No bitterness. No anger. No resentment. Just … pained acceptance.

He would send the kid away, for Sans. He would give up on the person he had spent his whole life trying to save, for his brother.

Sans let out a long, heavy breath, and it felt like he was breathing out something as old as himself.

“i don’t know what’ll make me happy,” he murmured, so quietly even he had trouble hearing it. “other than seeing you happy.”

He huffed a sound that felt like a laugh, his smile twitching up at the corners.

“heh. you want me to be happy and i want you to be happy. seems like we’re either stuck in a cycle of happy or a cycle of sad.”

He didn’t feel Papyrus smile back. He didn’t expect him to. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, though, locked on the top of his skull. Like there might be some answer there, carved into the bone. Maybe there was. Papyrus had always been better at seeing things no one else could.

“THERE ARE OTHER THINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY, THOUGH. EVEN IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE,” he replied, after a painfully long silence. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY JUST BECAUSE I AM.”

Sans wanted to say something to that, but none of the words in his head made sense—at least, they wouldn’t to someone who wasn’t him. Not even Papyrus. So he stayed silent, staring at the bones of Papyrus’s neck, only a few inches in front of his face. He could feel Papyrus staring down at him, and for a second, he had to bite back the urge to tilt his head up and look at him in return.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT, SANS?” Papyrus asked. “IF YOU COULD HAVE ANYTHING IN THE WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE?”

Sans swallowed the lump in his throat, choking him again, like that knot in his chest, but much smaller. Gentler. Easier to breathe around, even if he could still feel the air catching against it.

He wondered how long it would take to get used to feeling so much lighter.

“i used to want us to be safe,” he said at last. “for … for no one to hurt us anymore. for us to be together and … no one to ever try to pull us apart.”

No response. He knew he had said it before, had said it a million times, but somehow it felt new, like this was the first time he had expressed it quite like this.

Or maybe that because this was the first time he really believed it was possible.

He swallowed again, a little harder than before.

“we got that now. we’ve had that for a long time, we’re _free,_ from the lab, from the mountain, and …” 

He hesitated, trying to find the rest of the words, but there were none left. He searched his head, dug as deep as he could go, but there was nothing there.

He felt empty. Drained. Like everything that had once filled him up to the brim had leaked out without him noticing, and now he was as hollow as a plastic straw.

“BUT YOU WEREN’T HAPPY,” Papyrus cut in, filling in the words he couldn’t have come up with if he had had all the time in the world. “EVEN BEFORE WINGDINGS CAME.”

Sans tilted his head lower, even though he knew it didn’t make any difference. Even though he knew his brother couldn’t have seen the shame on his face.

Even though he knew he didn’t need to see it to feel it.

“i … felt like something was missing.”

He wasn’t sure if it was relief or regret sweeping through him once the words were out in the open, but either way, Papyrus had heard them, and held him even tighter, squeezing their bones so close that it was hard to tell where one of them began and the other ended.

“ME TOO.”

There was so much emotion seeped into those words that Sans felt himself huff a laugh, involuntary, sudden, humorless.

“spent so long imagining that we’d lost something that never existed,” he muttered, and bit back the urge to reach up and smack himself across the face. It wouldn’t help anything, and he doubted Papyrus would let him get close.

“NO. IT DIDN’T,” Papyrus replied, and it took Sans a few seconds to realize that he had agreed with him. There was no passion in his words, no life, just … blank, monotone agreement. Acknowledgement. Acceptance. Not nearly as satisfying as Sans would have imagined it. “BUT … JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING DIDN’T EXIST BEFORE, DOESN’T MEAN WE CAN’T HAVE IT NOW.”

The hope Sans heard in his voice now was … different than what he had heard before. Before, it had been bright and hot, burning and fierce, blazing on even when it felt like the rest of the world had gone dark. This … this was like a candle, a candle that had been completely snuffed out, but which someone had now relit, and it sat there now, flickering in the shadows, struggling to light up the room with what little energy it had left.

But somehow, Sans already knew that this candle would never, ever go out.

“AND IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE WITH HIM. I KNOW THAT YOU … YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE OKAY WITH HIM. WE CAN STILL MAKE THE LIFE WE WANT, EVEN IF HE’S NOT IN IT.”

Sans grit his teeth. He wasn’t anxious, or even particularly upset. He was too tired to be either of those things. Maybe he was gritting his teeth to wake himself up, to remind himself of where he was,  _when_ he was.

Maybe he was trying to prepare himself for wherever this conversation would go.

“but you want him to be.”

It wasn’t a question, because they both knew the answer. The answer had been the same since the moment they came out of the tubes. For Papyrus, at least. For Sans … for Sans …

Papyrus sighed.

“YES. I DO,” he replied, a hint of something that wasn’t quite embarrassment in his tone. Sans hoped it wasn’t embarrassment. No matter what he thought of his brother’s wishes, he never wanted him to be ashamed of them. “BUT IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T.”

Sans found himself trying to remember if Papyrus had ever given him permission like this. Permission to just … reject Him from his life. He had been understanding, to the best of his ability, supportive and kind to no end. But he had always tried to nudge him in another direction. Nudge him toward the nice happy family he was convinced they could have.

He might not fight about it. He might avoid the topic specifically so they wouldn’t fight.

But he had never just … told him it was okay to feel like he did.

That it was okay if those feelings never changed.

That he would give up the life he had dreamed of, because Sans didn’t want it, too.

Sans wished there was a way to hold his brother tighter, but his body was small and weak, and he was tired, so he just closed his eyes and hoped his feelings could somehow seep into his touch.

“i used to want that, you know,” he murmured, his own voice filling his empty head. “a long time ago.”

He could feel Papyrus stiffen, just a little. He didn’t know if it was in shock or excitement or hope or something completely different, and he didn’t look up to see.

He didn’t want to risk that he might change his answer to make it something Papyrus wanted to hear.

“only sometimes,” he went on, a little louder, to make sure his brother’s hopes didn’t shoot through the roof before he could catch them. “in … in the good moments. before the plates. i used to look at him and want the same things you did.”

He felt his fingers tighten around Papyrus’s shirt, clinging to him like he had so many times in the dark of their cell.

“i used think we could be happy.”

A laugh forced its way out a second later, breathy and humorless, like he had only just realized what had come out of his mouth. He shook his head.

“i mean, it sounds ridiculous now. we were living in a lab wearing medical gowns, we were locked in a cell with no bed or toys or _anything,_ he treated us like … like things, he _called_ us things, and it was awful, even then, even when it didn’t hurt, but … i still thought it could be okay. for a while.” 

He waited for Papyrus to respond. Waited for him to latch onto that tiny bit of hope, that certainty he had always clung to that they could be together, all three of them, they could be happy and safe and things could actually work out like he had always hoped.

But Papyrus didn’t say anything. He just sat there, holding him, waiting for what he would say next.

It was much, much harder to dredge up his voice this time, but he did, pulling it up like a boulder that had been dropped down a hundred-foot hole.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and sucked in a deep, trembling breath.

“i’m never going to see him like you do,” he muttered, monotone, not apologizing but also not gloating. Not rubbing it in when he already knew it would hurt too much. “i don’t think that’s going to change.”

But instead of protests, Sans felt Papyrus’s arms squeeze him again, just for a second, because if he held him much tighter he really might break him.

“THAT’S OKAY,” he said, and the words were so strange that Sans almost didn’t believe they weren’t just in his head. Papyrus hesitated, shifting a little, but never letting him go. “WE’RE … NOT THE SAME PERSON. WE DON’T HAVE TO SHARE EVERYTHING. IT’S … IT’S OKAY IF WE FEEL DIFFERENT ABOUT THIS.”

The words felt like warm water pouring over his head, down his shoulders, over his spine, soaking into him, heating him up from the outside in. Or maybe the inside out. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was how warm he felt, how secure, how safe, a weight he hadn’t even realized was resting on his shoulders finally slipping off, as easily as the water.

Sans drew another breath, shaking but strong, pulling himself up out of his own pool of relief before he could drown in it.

“how you feel is okay, too,” he said, maybe a little too fast, but it was important, and he didn’t want to risk not getting it out there. He paused, swallowed, started to speak, then swallowed again. “i’ll … never get it. how you can be so forgiving. but i never really did.”

No response, just as before, but Sans could feel his brother’s attention locked on him, waiting to absorb every word he said. So he hesitated, picked his words carefully, strung them together like the popcorn on thread that Tori had taught them how to make last winter, when all they had to decorate for Gyftmas were the trees on the edge of Mt. Ebbot. When they had so little, but somehow it felt like enough.

He glanced at the door, imagining Wingdings still standing there, staring at them with such pain in his eyes. Pain that Sans had never once seen on His face, even in the best moments, when they really thought He might change.

“seeing him now … how he used to be … i wonder which one of us is more like him.”

Something stung in his chest, something old, dulled with time, but still sharp enough to feel like a needle digging into his soul. He didn’t think he flinched, but he must have done something, because Papyrus gave him yet another squeeze.

“JUST BECAUSE WE’RE LIKE HIM IN SOME WAYS DOESN’T MEAN THOSE WAYS ARE BAD.”

Sans vaguely remembered when he would have fought against that statement. Would have said Papyrus was defending Him, trying to make Him sound … less bad than he was. But he didn’t fight against it now. Now, he could see his brother’s intentions more clearly than he ever had in the lab.

It wasn’t a defense. Not for Him.

It was a defense for Sans. For what kind of person he was. For the goodness that Papyrus had always seen in him, even in the moments where Sans couldn’t see any of it himself.

“THERE ARE PARTS OF HIM THAT AREN’T BAD. A LOT OF PARTS OF HIM,” Papyrus went on, and that _was_ a defense, at least a little, but it felt … different than the arguments he had made before. And Sans couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “HE WASN’T BAD WHEN HE WAS YOUNG.” 

Sans huffed another laugh. There was humor in it this time, even if there was still a lot more pain.

“no. doesn’t look like he was.”

“I WONDER IF HE’LL TELL US WHAT HAPPENED,” Papyrus went on, apparently more to himself than to Sans. Thinking out loud, hoping out loud, like he had done so many times in the quiet and the dark. “IF IT WAS JUST THE WAR THAT CHANGED HIM OR …”

Again, Sans could feel the old arguments bubbling up in his throat, the insistence that it didn’t matter what had made him this way, it didn’t change what he was  _now._

It didn’t change was he was doing.

But those arguments felt faded and stale in his mouth, and he swallowed them all in one hard gulp.

“i don’t know if he understands himself,” he muttered instead, with only a touch of the old bitterness slipping into his voice. “but you’re right. this isn’t the same him. it … there’s parts of him there, but … this isn’t the same guy who hurt us.”

Papyrus didn’t reply, but moved his hand to rub against Sans’s shoulder. It felt … way more reassuring than it should have.

His brother was here. Right here, safe and sound. Barring a few prejudiced humans, no one had hurt them in a long time—not in this timeline, anyway—and if Sans had anything to say about it, no one would ever hurt them again.

They were okay.

They were free, and they were never going back to that place ever again.

“i’ll never see him the way you do, but … if you want him to stay … i think i could be okay with that.”

The words felt strange coming up his throat, maybe stranger than anything he had ever said. But they were his words, fully, undoubtedly, and even once they were out in the open, echoing back to him, making something jolt deep in his chest … he couldn’t bring himself to regret them.

He could feel Papyrus’s soul thrumming against his skull, faster than before, almost trembling, the anxiety buzzing through his body like burst of electricity in his bones. He opened his mouth a few times, apparently searching for words, before he finally swallowed and forced his voice to work.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE,” he said, and it wasn’t just words, just reassurance, he _meant_ it, as much as he had meant it every time he had told Sans he loved him. “YOU’RE MORE IMPORTANT. IF YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO STAY, I’LL FIND SOME OTHER PLACE FOR HIM TO GO.” 

He pressed his cheekbone closer to Sans’s skull and rubbed back and forth, squeezing him tight enough to hurt and clenching his jaw against his head.

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO HURT JUST SO I’LL BE HAPPY.”

Sans wanted to protest that. He could already feel the words bubbling up in his throat, old and familiar and automatic. But he stopped before they could get out and swallowed them back, pausing and taking a long, deep breath before he tried again.

“i know,” he said instead, because he did. He had known that for a long, long time. He shook his head and let out the air in his chest in a single heavy sigh. “it’s not gonna be easy to stop. i still want you to be happy. i’ll always want that.”

Papyrus made a sound that almost counted as a laugh.

“THAT’S OKAY,” he murmured, even though Sans could hear the old pain in his voice. The old frustration. Had that always been there, when Sans put him first, even at cost to himself? Had he really been hurting his brother even when he was trying to help him? “BUT YOU CAN’T FORGET THAT I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY, TOO. YOU CAN NEVER FORGET THAT, SANS.”

Sans swallowed, but didn’t say anything. Papyrus gave him another squeeze, like he was trying to make sure he was listening, more than just his usual reassurance.

“I WON’T BE HAPPY IF YOU’RE SAD. SO … SO WE BOTH HAVE TO BE HAPPY.”

Sans felt the corner of his mouth twitch up, and this time, it stayed. “sounds like some crazy infinite loop to me.”

Papyrus rubbed one hand up and down a small part of his spine.

“AS LONG AS IT’S AN INFINITE LOOP OF HAPPINESS, I THINK THAT SOUNDS LIKE A VERY GOOD THING.”

“heh. guess so,” Sans muttered. The smile was still there, just a little wider than his permanent grin, comfortable and soft. A few more thoughts settled into his head, and the smile threatened to fade, but to his surprise, it held firm. “even if he’s not here … we can’t escape him anymore. we can shove him somewhere far away and keep him out of our lives, but we can’t forget. not anymore.”

He didn’t bother listening for a response. He paused, taking time to sort through his own thoughts, but he knew his brother wasn’t going to speak until he was done.

It was … uncomfortable, being given this much silence to fill. But maybe he could get used to it.

“i don’t know if having him here will make it easier or harder to deal with it, but … neither way is gonna fix everything,” he went on, the words in his head making their way to his mouth with almost no trouble at all. He sighed and shook his head. “sides, we … he’s not the same person who hurt us. not completely. and if we blame him for the stuff he did in his own future, or past, or … whatever the hell it is … if he knew that i would kill him in the future, would that make it okay for him to hurt me?”

He could feel Papyrus frown. He didn’t move, or even stiffen, but Sans knew, beyond any hint of a doubt, that he was frowning, that sharp, disapproving look he gave every time Sans made a joke at his own expense.

“THAT’S NOT THE SAME THING.”

Sans hummed, and found, for the first time in a while, that he didn’t even disagree.

“no, it’s not. but there’s not a lot of good comparisons for something like this,” he replied. Papyrus went silent again, apparently waiting for him to go on. Sans’s browbone twitched, and he took a few seconds to focus on the thrumming of his brother’s soul against his skull. Warm. Alive. As safe as he had ever been. “it would be different, if we didn’t have a choice. if he was here and we couldn’t get away from him.”

Sans took a deep breath, focused on the thrum again. Pulsing. Beating.

Living.

Right here.

“we can change our minds anytime,” he went on. “we can tell him to go, and he’ll go.”

Papyrus was silent for a second, but then Sans felt him nod, slow, hesitant, but completely assured.

“YES. HE WILL.”

And he would. Sans knew this Wingdings would leave the second one of them asked it, and he knew, right here, right now, that if Sans asked, Papyrus wouldn’t stop him.

He wouldn’t be happy about it. He would wish that Sans had made a different choice.

But he wouldn’t fight it.

And he wouldn’t hold it against him.

Sans tried to think of the last time he had felt such an intense rush of relief, and even when he thought back to the breaking of the barrier … he couldn’t find anything that came close.

“but we have a choice. it’s our choice to let him stay here,” he went on, like he was sealing it with his words, putting the final coat of varnish so nothing could ever, ever change it. Or take it away. “we’re in control this time.”

It didn’t feel like the control he had wanted as a child. Then, it had been about power.  _He_ had power, and if Sans wanted to be safe, he had to have more. He had to be stronger, smarter,  _better._

Now …

“he’s vulnerable. he’s weak,” he muttered, only completely realizing it after it had sunk in. He drew another breath, deep and shuddering, and it was like he was breathing in this new life, letting it fill him up until there was no room for anything else. “and i don’t want to be like him.”

He grunted a bit as Papyrus yanked him closer, tighter, almost painful. Not enough to touch his HP, but enough to make him pat his brother’s arm, silently asking him to lighten up.

Papyrus held him close for a second longer, like he was trying to force something into Sans’s skull, then relaxed his grip.

“YOU’LL NEVER BE LIKE HIM. NOT IN THE BAD WAYS,” he said, and even if Sans had wanted to argue, he would have known better than to try. “NO MATTER WHAT.”

His mouth twitched up at the corners, but he let the silence settle, closing his eyes and resting his brother’s hold. He hoped they would have more moments like this. Maybe when there wasn’t some sort of crisis going on. When they could just sit there and appreciate the simple fact of being together. Of being safe. Of being … at least something close to happy.

They had wanted it for so long. Then they had forgotten how much they wanted it, and they had forgotten to appreciate it.

But they knew now. And Sans was sure that there would be no more forgetting.

For better or for worse.

“you think we’ll ever be over this?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. It was easier to focus on touch that way. Easier to feel the solid weight of Papyrus holding him close. “that we’ll ever heal?”

Papyrus hesitated. Sans imagined the faces he might have made, thoughtful, worried, and probably more than a little hopeful.

“I DON’T KNOW,” he replied at last, his soft words chasing away the silence. “BUT IT WILL GET BETTER. I … I KNOW IT WILL. AS LONG AS WE’RE TOGETHER, AS LONG AS WE HAVE EACH OTHER … THINGS WILL GET BETTER.”

He turned his head and pressed his teeth against Sans’s skull. It wasn’t the same as the kisses he had gotten from Tori or Frisk, just a click of the teeth against bone. Tori and Frisk were great, but he decided he liked his brother’s kisses more.

“WE’LL MAKE IT BETTER. TOGETHER.”

Sans was still smiling, just a little wider than the grin permanently etched into his face. He hadn’t even noticed it until now, and he didn’t have to work to keep it on his face. It had been a while since he had smiled so easily. Months, maybe. Since before he even got the idea to go back to the Underground.

That was only a few months ago, wasn’t it? It felt like a lifetime. It felt like another world. And he knew the life he had had then was never coming back.

But … maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“i know this isn’t exactly what you wanted,” he murmured after what felt like an eternity of silence. “but … it’s pretty close, right? probably as close as we can ever get.”

Papyrus hummed, but didn’t say anything. Just holding him. Keeping him close. Like he had done so many times in the lab, like holding him close enough, tight enough, would keep him from getting hurt.

Sans swallowed hard.

“we’ve got a home. a family,” he went on, so quiet he almost couldn’t make out his own words. “we’re safe.”

The lump returned to his throat, and he swallowed again, harder, feeling it slip down into his chest, resting there, heavy and warm.

“we’re free.”

He pressed his head as firmly as he could against his brother’s chest, like he would be able to reach his soul if he got close enough. Like he would be able to hold it in his hands and keep it safe, no matter who tried to hurt it.

“and you can help him. he’ll let you. he can’t hurt us anymore, and you can do all the good you always wanted.”

“YES,” Papyrus murmured, and there was happiness in his voice. Quiet happiness. Contentment. So different from the thrill that would have been there in the early days, the sheer joy of finally gaining the love of the person who had refused to give it. “AND … YOU’LL BE HAPPY? OR … AT LEAST YOU’LL KEEP TRYING TO BE?”

And there was the hope. Just like the hope in his voice when he had insisted He could change, could get better, could stop hurting them. Except this was even stronger. Even more desperate.

This was what his brother wanted, more than anything else in the world.

Sans. Sans being safe and happy.

And damn everything, if that was all Sans had to do to make his brother happy, to turn that hope in his voice into real, unadulterated joy …

“yeah,” he breathed, raspy, quiet, but unmistakably genuine. “i will.”

“PROMISE?”

Sans’s mouth twitched up just a little further, and he nuzzled his head against his brother’s neck. “i promise.”

Papyrus’s breath hitched, and he nestled his own head down into Sans’s skull. They might have been one person in that moment, melded together. Two parts of one being, forever separated, but still as close as they could be.

“GOOD,” Papyrus whispered, the joy in his voice so bright and warm it might have been its own sun. “GOOD.”

He turned his head and pressed his teeth against Sans’s head again, once, twice, three times.

“THEN I PROMISE, TOO.”

And even though he had no idea why, no idea how this would all work out, no idea where their lives were going to go from here, Sans knew, without a doubt, that neither of those promises would ever be broken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: the way Sans and Papyrus deal with the situation is NOT a comment on how abuse victims “should” deal with their situation. There is no one right way to deal with abuse. The right way is the one that allows you to live the best life you possibly can. Papyrus and Sans have very different viewpoints on the situation, and neither of them is in the wrong. It’s okay to forgive your abuser, and it’s okay to never forgive your abuser.


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter exploded beyond anything I planned. I guess that’s what happens with epilogues. XD
> 
> There are a TON of issues that were never explored in this fic, some I knew I was leaving out from the beginning, some I only thought of from reading comments. I really wish I could have covered more angles (how the other characters reacted to this, Wingdings and Asgore, more of Wingdings and Toriel, etc.), but fact is, I seriously never expected this story to get even this long, and if I included all those things, it would probably add another 20-50k. If I ever add any bonus chapters, I'll absolutely be exploring those angles.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read this story, left kudos, bookmarks, and/or comments. I sincerely appreciate all of you and hope you’ve enjoyed this story.
> 
> Have a great day, all!!

Wingdings didn’t think he would ever get used to how much the world had changed.

Sometimes he thought he came close, but as soon as he did, something new would pop up, something that had been developed decades or even centuries ago, but had never fallen into the Underground. Never been mentioned in movies or books, at least not more than in passing, or at least not often enough that it caught his attention.

The modern education system was one of those things, and even after five years working his way through it, it never stopped surprising him.

High school—the new name for secondary school—he had been expecting to be different. New information, new discoveries, new topics that were considered important when they had been brushed aside in his day. Even if he had no experience with it, he had some idea of what he was getting into, and aside from a few notable incidents, it never managed to surprise him _too_ much. 

University threw him for a loop.

Maybe it would have been easier if he had someone to give him a heads-up as to what to expect. Even Alphys, who had earned her degree much more recently than he—the other him—had, had only experienced the  _monster_ education system. Classes were small, areas of study were limited, and very few people actually took the time to complete a degree unless it was absolutely necessary.

Higher education among humans was still far from universal, but it was a  _lot_ more common. Classes ranged from twenty people to two hundred, and going between classes was like navigating the most crowded parts of the Capital. On a bad day. For the first two weeks, it was all he could do to avoid being trampled, and even after that, he tended to stick around in his classrooms and risk being late for his next class, just so he wouldn’t have to brave the initial rush. His second semester had started three weeks ago, and he had the forethought this time to make sure that none of his classes were back to back. It led to an unusual schedule, but he could work with that. It meant a break between each lecture, and sometimes even enough time to run back to the house.

Honestly, with all the trouble it had taken him to acclimate to the new environment, he hardly had enough time to remember that, by human standards, he had started four years early.

He probably would have started even sooner than that, but basic education had been expanded quite a bit since his time in school, and the things he had learned after age nine were … fuzzy. They were still there, and usually all it took was a quick reminder before the knowledge came rushing back to him like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. But he still needed the reminders, and maybe a bit of practical work to wash off the rust that had settled over his once-sharp skills.

It gave him a significant leg up on his classmates, though, and he wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel good to be the “smart kid” once again.

He wasn’t sure the other students even realized how old he was. They seemed far more interested in the fact that he was a skeleton, even though plenty of monsters had started university, and he even had one monster professor—though she hadn’t been there more than a year. He knew he would be even more alone once he started graduate school—probably in only a couple of years, with how fast he was going—but he didn’t mind so much. Humans … weren’t so bad. Not all of them, at least.

“Wingdings!”

It was hard to condemn an entire species when one of them was your best friend.

Wingdings turned around, already grinning as he watched Frisk bound along the sidewalk, their arm in the air, racing toward him. He almost thought they were going to knock him over in a hug—they seemed to forget that he weighed much less than them and didn’t have the strength to catch them—but they slowed down in the last few seconds, panting, but beaming.

“You left without me,” they said, without any sort of accusation, adjusting their backpack on their shoulders.

Wingdings gave them a slightly sheepish smile back.

“I thought maybe you’d joined a club without telling me. You were twenty minutes late. I  _did_ wait for you.”

Frisk grinned and shrugged, forgiving as always.

“Yeah, sorry, I stayed to talk with one of my teachers. He wanted my help integrating the new monster history textbooks Mom gave him into the curriculum.”

They said it so casually, but Wingdings could feel the corners of his mouth twitching up in something like pride.

“You could probably teach monster history better than he ever could.”

Frisk almost snorted, giving him a gentle nudge in the arm as they started down the sidewalk again. “Oh, come on, I’m not  _that_ good.”

“Definitely better than any other human, and probably better than a lot of monsters,” Wingdings insisted, and though Frisk looked like they wanted to argue, they just huffed a sigh and shook their head. They were smiling, though, and Wingdings took it to mean he was saying the right thing. “You should do a guest lecture at the university. It would do a lot of good.”

Their eyebrows shot up, and they stared at him like he had sprouted a third arm out of his ribcage.

“I’m in high school!”

“So?” Wingdings asked, almost as confused as they were stunned. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have something valuable to contribute. Besides, you’re more than smart enough.”

Frisk blushed and averted their eyes, but Wingdings could see their lips twitching up, just a little.

“Maybe once I actually  _start_ college,” they conceded at last, glancing back to him with warmth in their eyes. “You can put in a good word for me, I guess.”

He could tell they meant it as a joke, but he immediately broke out in a grin, nodding eagerly. “Of course I can! And I’ll introduce you to all my professors and make sure you get priority enrollment and—and I can give you a campus tour, I mean, as long as you decide to go to the same university, but even if you don’t …”

He trailed off when he realized Frisk was laughing, just snickering at first, then almost guffawing. For a second, he thought they were making fun of him, but then he remembered who he was talking to, and saw their eyes, just as warm as before. And he found himself laughing right along with them.

They chatted the rest of the way back to the house, as they always did when they got the chance to walk home together. It wasn’t every day, but whenever his classes lined up with the end of their school day, he did his best to meet them at the high school. He had never walked home from school with anyone in his old life. It was … nice, to get that experience now.

And Frisk was a good person to talk to.

He still signed with them, out of habit more than anything, but they had come to understand more than half of what he said in his font. It was … difficult for them, he knew—apparently humans and other monsters heard his font like a series of machine noises—but they tried their best, and he still grinned like an idiot every time they learned to recognize a new word.

There was a part of him, a part that felt unfamiliar, too old for this body and mind, that told him to be careful. To watch out. To not trust a human,  _any_ human, no matter how kind, no matter how long or how closely he had known them.

That part of him might never go away, but he was pretty sure he could live with it.

For the most part, though, he had put away the remnants of his old life, and it rarely came up anymore.

The early days had been … challenging, to say the least, getting to know everyone all over again, seeing their forgotten memories slowly return, and filling in the countless blanks, even though it was one of the most painful things he had ever done. It took more than a week for Alphys to come to talk to him, and they had spent three hours after that going back and forth, telling the stories they had kept from the other, trying to figure out where their relationship stood after all the time lost. After all the secrets had been spilled.

She wasn’t nearly as angry as she should have been, and most of that anger was silent, suppressed, probably vented later with Undyne. He got the feeling that she wouldn’t let herself be angry with him—even though she really, really should have been—because of her own mistakes. She had hurt people, too, she explained. A lot of people. A lot of people who would live the rest of their now-immortal lives in a state no monster should ever even have to imagine.

He tried to tell her that it wasn’t her fault—that it was an accident, she had been acting under the King’s orders, she had no idea what would happen and she never would have done it if she had. But he knew it didn’t change the facts. It didn’t take away her guilt. And even though he still viewed her crimes as far, far less than his own, he knew it still made her feelings toward him much more sympathetic.

The King and Queen were … another story.

Completely different from one another, but also similar in ways even they themselves probably didn’t realize. They were angry, of course—Asgore because Wingdings had ruined his own life, and almost ruined two others, to take on what Asgore viewed as his own burden, and Toriel because … well. He had broken her heart, shattered it, in almost the same way as her former husband. In Toriel’s mind, there was no greater crime than harming a child, and even she didn’t seem to know whether the quick, relatively painless deaths of six children was worse than creating two children for the sole purpose of putting them through unimaginable torture.

But underneath their anger, there was guilt. Sadness. Loss. He suspected at least part of it had to do with the fact that he looked like—and felt like, and apparently acted like—a child now, and neither of them had ever been able to be  _that_ angry at a child. But he knew it was more than that. They blamed themselves, to some extent. For not seeing the signs of his downward spiral. For not checking in more often.

For … leaving, and not bringing him with her.

And underneath all those feelings, underneath the jumbled mess of painful emotions he couldn’t have untangled for the life of him, there was still love.

They had forgotten him. They had moved on in their lives without him. And he had been shoved back into their lives, years later, at a completely different age, with his old memories but a completely different state of mind, with so much blood on his hands that he might as well have spent a decade bathing it.

But they still loved him.

That was undoubtedly harder to accept than anything else.

It was easier, in a way, to interact with Undyne and Frisk, because even once Undyne finally remembered her vague impression of the former Royal Scientist, she didn’t have much of an impression of him to recall. She was still wary of him—anyone that made Alphys as upset as he had was immediately on her radar—but she seemed to do her best not to be obvious about it.

Granted, this was Undyne, and even after only a few weeks of knowing her, he already knew that “not too obvious” for her meant little more than not trying to impale him with a spear.

Frisk was the only one who hadn’t known him at all. He got the impression they had heard of him—somehow—from other monsters who had fallen into the Void, but he never asked for details, and they didn’t give them. Maybe they knew he didn’t want to think about his time there. Or maybe they were still putting the pieces together. Either way, he appreciated it.

They cared about their friends, their family, and they didn’t like seeing them in pain. They were also far smarter than most people would care to notice, and scarily observant, and even though no one explained the situation to them, within a week of their trip to the Underground, Frisk had apparently figured it all out.

But their treatment of him didn’t change. Not even once.

They didn’t try to brush aside what he had done, or claim that his past mistakes didn’t matter. But they stood by him, as a friend, as an ally, just as they did everyone else.

He still didn’t think he deserved it, but he would be lying through his teeth if he claimed he didn’t appreciate it.

But as much as everyone else had surprised him, as much as they still surprised him, even years later, Sans and Papyrus’s decision to let him stay—to let him remain in their house and even make a tentative place for himself as a member of their family—was still what shocked him the most.

And when they first told him, standing side by side, looking as sure as they ever had, that they  _both_ wanted him to stay—that they had asked and confirmed that every single person in the house wanted him there, too—he had quite nearly turned them down.

Because he didn’t deserve it. They must know he didn’t deserve it and he  _definitely_ knew he didn’t deserve it. He had done horrible things, he had abused them beyond imagination, and they deserved better than having to deal with his presence every day of their new lives. They deserved to be happy without him there to ruin it.

He had been ready to argue further, his mouth already open, a million reasons ready to fall out at a second’s notice.

Then Sans, who had been so quiet through all of this, who hadn’t spoken a word to him directly since that moment down in the lab, broke the silence.

“you never gave us any choices before. don’t you think we deserve to decide this for ourselves?”

And suddenly, every reason Wingdings had come up with died, no fanfare, no hesitance, no final cry of despair. Just gone.

And all Wingdings could do was close his mouth, lower his head, and nod.

It had been a slow process for them, too. Maybe even slower. Papyrus had done his best to resettle Wingdings into the family, but Wingdings could tell that things were a little different. Papyrus would never view him in quite the same way, now that they knew of their shared history. He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad, but it was definitely different.

Sans didn’t speak to him at all for another two weeks, but when he finally spoke up, asking Wingdings to pass the syrup for his waffles one morning at breakfast, it felt like a wall of ice had been cracked. Just one tiny, almost unnoticeable crack, but both of them could already tell it would be the first of many.

And it was.

It had been a long, long five years, and Wingdings wasn’t sure if the healing process would ever really be over. But what had been a wall of ice ten feet thick was now completely transparent, and in a few spots, he could already see it melting completely, just enough for him to start to reach through.

Maybe five years wasn’t all that long, when so much had already been achieved.

Wingdings pushed his thoughts aside as their house came into view, and Frisk started off in an impromptu race to the front door. He stumbled after them—they had always been faster than he was—and reached the porch a couple of seconds after they did. They beamed, but didn’t gloat. He wasn’t even sure what Frisk gloating would look like.

He shook his head, chuckling, as he pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, letting Frisk push it open. As usual, they bounded inside, dropping their backpack on the floor before running into the kitchen, calling out a greeting for their mom. Toriel was always in the kitchen around this time of day—when she wasn’t staying late at the school—and Frisk never failed to give her a hug as soon as they got home.

Wingdings moved slower, setting down his bag in its designated spot and closing the door behind him. He stretched his tired bones and breathed in the scent of home. And it did smell like home now. Maybe more than his first home ever had. An odd mix of spices and sweetness from the kitchen, Undyne’s sweaty clothes, Sans’s dirty socks, and, most recently, a fresh, impossibly  _new_ scent that shouldn’t have been able to overpower the others, but somehow always did.

He almost missed the small shape that rushed out of the kitchen, the clattering on the wood floor, the rush of white and yellow and green flying through the living room before crashing into him so hard he almost lost his balance.

For a split second he froze, arms up at his sides, good eye wide, breath caught in his throat.

Then the scent hit him, stronger than ever, fresh and new and sweet in its own way.

Wingdings smiled.

And he looked down at the tiny skeleton, arms wrapped around his legs, both sockets wide, her beaming smile even wider.

“Hey, Sitka,” Wingdings said, his voice shifting into something gentler, higher-pitched, without him even trying. Sitka giggled, and let go of his legs just long enough for him to kneel to her eye level before she latched onto his arm in turn.

“I learn how to p’ay pee-ah-no too-deh!”

He was pretty sure people outside of the family still had trouble understanding her, but Wingdings just smiled a little wider and tilted his head.

“Oh, you did?”

“Yeah!” she squeaked out, bouncing a little while using his arm to keep her balance. “An’ ‘Dyne tot me!”

Wingdings … wasn’t sure whether or not to be concerned about that. Undyne could indeed play piano, and knew an impressive amount of songs, but since they had brought home their first electric keyboard three years earlier, she had managed to break four.

The current one—a proper, sturdy upright that had cost them quite a chunk of savings—had held up for over a year now, but he wasn’t counting on it being permanent.

Still, he kept smiling as best he could, nodding and humming in interest. Undyne might be her teacher, but Sitka wasn’t Undyne.

“Do you want to show me? I’d love to hear you play.”

Her whole face lit up so bright it looked like a tiny sun, all the warmth and light crammed into one little skull. She bounced some more, gripping his arm even tighter.

“Yeah yeah!”

And then she was off, running through the living room and clambering up the stairs. Frisk poked their head out of the kitchen, smirking at him, and he smiled and shrugged in return.

The creaking of the steps paused, and Wingdings turned to find Sitka standing halfway up, giving him an impatient look. She waved him forward, pointing toward the second floor.

“C’mon, Wing!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Wingdings said, chuckling as he followed her the rest of the way to the landing.

The piano was still in Undyne’s room, of course, even though it might as well have been in the living room, connected to a house-wide speaker system, for how loud she usually played. Thankfully, Undyne wasn’t there to encourage her new “student” to play quite so loud. Sitka was almost too short to climb onto the bench by herself, but she managed it through a combination of hopping and hoisting herself up with her thin but amazingly strong arms. Then she positioned herself in front of the keys, glanced at him to make sure he was watching, and reached out her hands to play.

Or, well, he was … almost sure she was playing.

Despite the look of pure concentration on her face, it sounded closer to random bashing on the keys.

He could pick out a few familiar notes, though, and if she could pick up even that much in one afternoon, at two years old, then he had no doubt she would playing like a pro a few years from now.

As she moved onto her next “song,” he found his attention on her rather than the music, eyes drifting over her bright features, her tiny bones, her wide eyes, flickering a color somewhere between yellow, orange and pink. She was wearing a sundress today, yellow and green. He was pretty sure Toriel had made it. Sometimes she wore overalls, or a shirt and pants, or sometimes just a giant shirt—like the ones she used as pajamas—if she was too excited even to get dressed in the morning. He could see Papyrus’s features in her, most obviously, and a few of Sans’s, slipped in here and there, very subtly, genetic code that had sat dormant in his brother until he decided to continue his family line.

But Wingdings hadn’t realized until her first birthday how much she looked like him.

It was … scary, in a way. A good way. And a bad way. And a … very, very confusing way. He  _knew,_ logically, that she was his granddaughter, just like he knew that Sans and Papyrus were his sons. But it was hard to think of Papyrus as his son when he tucked him in and read him bedtime stories, made him pancakes, and let him rant about his latest frustrations. It was hard to think of Sans as his son when Sans was helping him grasp a scientific concept he had never had the chance to study in his old life.

Toriel had said that parents often learned a lot from their kids, but this was … different.

And not just because Wingdings had never acted anything like a parent to them before.

He had been eleven—physically, at least—when Papyrus came to him, asking how he had made them. Wingdings had been … startled at first. Worried. Guilty, as he usually was when something about his old life came up.

But of course, it had been Papyrus asking, and there was no maliciousness there. Even if it took a while for Wingdings to realize that it was curiosity instead.

Curiosity with an intent to put the knowledge Wingdings gave him into use.

Wingdings had been … more than a little panicked when Papyrus first told him that he wanted to actually  _make_ another skeleton himself. All he could think about was the feeling of the laser cutting through the bones of his hands, the bones that weren’t even as solid on Papyrus, bones that were even less solid since Wingdings had  _drilled holes into them._

It took Papyrus a few minutes to get him to stop hyperventilating, and for days after, he had refused to talk about it at all. He wasn’t going to let Papyrus go through that. He wouldn’t let his s—wouldn’t let Papyrus ruin his life like he had.

It took another week before he finally let Papyrus say his piece, and listened as well as he could.

Deep down, he had always known it wouldn’t be like what he had done. Papyrus wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ do something like that. It was the same method, but to a very different end.

He hadn’t been looking to have children, just two mindless beings for the sole purpose of experimenting on their souls, but Papyrus wanted a baby more than anything in the world.

Wanted to be a “good mom,” like he had seen Toriel do for Frisk.

And though he never said it out loud, Wingdings knew that he wanted to give another child everything he had missed out on himself.

There was so much he couldn’t give Papyrus, or Sans. So much he had stolen from them, even if they never brought it up anymore. Even though he was sure Papyrus didn’t blame him for it—not this version of him anyway.

He had taken their childhood. Their innocence. Their chance to grow up with a loving family.

And they had given him so much. A new life. A second chance. A family, better than any he had ever known.

This was the least he could do in return.

Even if Sans looked ready to kill him when Papyrus stepped out of the makeshift lab in the basement, missing the little finger of his left hand.

Papyrus had prevented any actual murder, of course, but Wingdings had spent most of the next week either out of the house or hiding away in his room, just in case. By the time he finally joined the rest of the family at the breakfast table again, Sans had apparently calmed down—though Wingdings was pretty sure it had less to do with time passing and more to do with Papyrus’s growing excitement about the possibility of becoming a parent.

Wingdings hadn’t been entirely sure it would work. He had used more … material to make Sans and Papyrus, material that Papyrus didn’t have to spare, and his memories of his own methods were still a little fuzzy. But then the soul fragment Papyrus had donated had bonded with his detached finger, and shifted in shape, slowly, surely, growing bigger and shifting further until …

… until he was staring at a tiny skeleton, curled up in the fetal position, suspended in thick fluid, with tiny arms and tiny legs and closed sockets and the glowing thrum of a tiny soul.

He … may or may not have had a panic attack when he first saw her.

A panic attack that may or may not have kept him locked in his room for three days straight.

He came out eventually, of course. He knew that Toriel wouldn’t wait much longer before breaking down the door, and it was hard to ignore Papyrus’s soft pleas, his reassurances that everything was going to be okay. There was going to be another skeleton. A new skeleton.

A new member of their strange, mismatched family.

That … didn’t make him feel any better, but he wasn’t going to risk a broken-down door, or put Papyrus through any more distress if there was a way to avoid it.

He had four months after that to adjust to the idea of becoming a … whatever he was going to be. To adjust to the idea of seeing another skeleton. Of … indirectly contributing to the  _birth_ of another skeleton.

Because it was a birth, just like taking Sans and Papyrus out of the tubes had been births. He might not have called it that then, and it might not be anything like the way skeletons were naturally made. But it was the beginning of a brand new life, an introduction to the world. So it was a birth.

Four months wasn’t anywhere near enough time to come to terms with it, but of course, life wasn’t going to wait for him.

And so, whether he was ready or not—and he definitely wasn’t—Papyrus’s daughter, a baby whose font was very quickly identified as Sitka, was brought out of the tube and into one set of loving arms and countless marveled gazes locked on her like the miracle she was.

Wingdings still avoided her at first, catching glimpses of her from a distance but doing his best to stay away, like he might somehow end up torturing her by proximity alone. But Papyrus was even more enthusiastic, even more insistent about him being some kind of family member to his new daughter, and it took only two days for Wingdings to find himself with an armful of baby skeleton and Papyrus’s gleeful eyes watching him with anticipation and delight.

And as soon as Wingdings dared to look down, meeting the wide eyes of the girl who had been created from someone created from him, he fell utterly and helplessly in love with her.

He didn’t think Papyrus had ever looked so happy in all his life.

The person he had tried so hard to pull into his family had finally accepted a place in it—uncertainly, hesitantly, and with more than a little abject terror—and he had a child of his own to love and care for. Wingdings didn’t need to ask to know that was all Papyrus had ever wanted.

None of them were surprised that he preferred being called “mom” to “dad.” He clearly didn’t think there was anything bad or lesser about being a “dad,” but … he had also never had one—not one that in any way lived up to the title—and most of the exposure he had to actual parenthood was through Toriel. Toriel who showed that being a mom meant being patient, gentle, kind, understanding, and loving, beyond what anyone would have thought possible.

Exactly what Papyrus wanted to be to his child.

So even though they got some funny looks from humans—and even some monsters—Papyrus was “Mommy,” and that was that.

Sitka, of course, never questioned it for a second. And despite the fact that he had grown up without any sort of parental figure in his life, Papyrus was the best example of a mom that any of them could have imagined.

For the first few months, Sitka almost never left his arms, strapped to his chest with a cloth Toriel had knitted or held against him as he rocked her to sleep. He would let others hold her, of course—and  _everyone_ wanted to hold her—and set her down when she wanted to play with a certain toy or try crawling on her own, but she was never left by herself, never more than a tiny whimper away from his comfort and attention. Even when she got a little older, said her first word, starting toddling around the house, she was still close to Mommy’s side, sleeping against him, wandering over for a hug, instantly soothed the second he picked her up and cuddled her in his arms.

He did everything Wingdings had never done. Everything he should have done. He had been given the worst possible beginning, but he still gave his own child the very best.

Even as she moved into toddlerhood, gained more and more independence, shouted out her bright, loud personality with all her might, Papyrus remained just as patient. Just as gentle. Just as loving. Never a harsh word. Never a discouraging comment. Never a cold look. Even when Sitka ran him to exhaustion—a feat none of them would have thought possible before she was born—Papyrus never once complained.

And as much as he would have been willing to forgive Papyrus all the slip-ups in the world, Wingdings wasn’t surprised. Papyrus had been kind to him even when he deserved none of it—even when he would have deserved the worst Papyrus could possibly dish out. And if that was how he had treated his abuser … well. It only made sense that he would give two hundred percent to his own child.

She deserved it more than anyone.

“Wing?”

Wingdings blinked and looked up, finding his eyes locked with Sitka’s. Apparently she had stopped her piano-playing at some point, but rather than being offended that he had been ignoring her impromptu concert, she just looked concerned.

He cleared his throat and tried to smile, even as he forced his unruly thoughts back into a dark corner of his mind.

“Yeah, Sitka?”

Sitka tilted her head, scooting forward on the piano bench. “You okay?”

Wingdings blinked again, but managed to smile a little more easily this time.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, and was surprised to find he actually meant it. He cleared his throat again, shaking off the last of the unwanted thoughts, and glanced over his shoulder, toward the stairs. “Hey, do you want to go play outside? It’s a really nice day.”

Sitka gave him a long, considering look. He honestly wasn’t sure how someone so young could look quite so … calculating. Quite so piercing. He swore he could hear the gears moving in her head, making decisions, shifting from side to side as needed, until finally, something clicked into place.

And she beamed, as bright and warm as any toddler in the world.

“Okay!”

Even though it was still a challenge for her to go up the stairs, Sitka apparently found no difficulty at all going down them. She was at the bottom before Wingdings had even touched the top step, and toddling out through the back door by the time he stepped into the living room. When he finally stepped onto the porch, she was on the grass, running back and forth from one side of the fence to another, faster than her little legs really should have been able to manage. She waved and called him over, and after pausing to catch his breath, Wingdings raced after her, running like he hadn’t done even when he really was fourteen years old.

Running for play instead of running for his life.

It was … tiring. Even though his body was young, he still didn’t spend much time exercising, preferring to curl up with a book for hours, and he found himself exhausted after only a couple of minutes. But he pushed himself further, chasing her and being chased, until his legs literally gave out, and he ended up sprawled face-first on the grass, Sitka kneeling at his side, patting his arm and asking him if he was okay.

She was so much like Papyrus it hurt.

He pulled himself up before she could get too worried, smiling at her and suggesting they take a little break. They would go back to playing soon, of course, he just needed to rest for a minute.

But even at two, Sitka was already almost as perceptive as her mom and uncle combined, and she did her best to help him to his feet and lead him toward the set of three lounge chairs Sans had insisted they get for the porch. He flopped down into the middle one and waited for her to clamber up into another, but instead she clambered up into his own, finding a spot right on top of his legs, like she was trying to make sure he didn’t get up too soon.

She wasn’t very heavy, even for a toddler, but she knew just as well as he did that he would never move her. So he was as good as pinned.

He didn’t mind, of course. He never had. He smiled down at her, and she beamed back up at him, and he didn’t think he had ever seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

He expected her to “sit guard,” as it were, until he got his energy back and was ready to play with her again. But apparently, being two—even a very patient two—meant she got bored very quickly. And a bored two-year-old apparently did one of two things: inform you exactly how bored she was and what she wanted to do … or go to sleep.

Sitka had her needs met so quickly and consistently that she rarely complained, and apparently running around had tired her out enough for her eyes to start to droop, and after only a few minutes, she had curled up in Wingdings’s lap and drifted off into a nap.

Wingdings still didn’t have a name for the tight, warm feeling in his chest that made him think he was choking, dying, and coming to life all at once. But for what must have been the thousandth time in the past two years, it washed over him as he looked down at her, taking in her tiny body resting against him. Comfortable. Happy.

Trusting.

He didn’t know what he had ever done to deserve it. He was quite sure he had done about a million things  _not_ to deserve it. But he had it. Despite everything he had done, everything he had ruined, this little child trusted him completely.

And it was, without a doubt, the best and most painful feeling in the world.

He had failed as a father.  _More_ than failed as a father, and he knew now that there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not much he could do to fix it. He could be kind, he could be helpful, he could try to make up for his many, many crimes, but he would never be the father that Sans and Papyrus deserved.

But he could be a good grandparent. Uncle? Big brother? Weird, shy skeleton friend? It didn’t matter.

Whatever he was to Sitka, he could do his best to be a good one.

He didn’t know for sure whether he was succeeding. But Sitka beamed whenever she saw him, and crawled into his lap at least once a week, asking for one of his stories from the days when there were more than four skeletons in the world, and he thought that meant he was at least doing okay.

And after everything that had happened … well. “Okay” was a good place to start.

“and here i thought she was down to only one nap a day.”

To his credit, Wingdings didn’t jump. Not obviously, anyway. Maybe it was because he had gotten used to Sans popping up next to him without any sort of warning, or maybe it was a subconscious effort not to wake Sitka by moving too much. Either way, he stayed still.

That didn’t stop him from needing a couple of seconds to push aside the rush of shock before he turned his head and met Sans’s eyes.

He smiled a little, sheepish at first, then fond as he looked back down at the little girl curled up in his lap. He ran his fingers over her skull, feeling the hum of magic running through the bone.

“She played a lot earlier. I think she tired herself out,” he explained, keeping his voice at that perfect volume he had learned early on was quiet enough not to disturb her, but loud enough to be heard. He paused, and his smile softened further. “I can’t remember the last time she fell asleep on me during the day.”

Sans gave him a considering look and tilted his head.

“hmm. can’t say the same, but then again, i tend to use her naps as an excuse to take one myself, so …”

Wingdings laughed. It was quiet and breathy and probably wouldn’t count as a laugh for a lot of people, but he didn’t laugh much, especially when it was just him and Sans, and he wanted it to count.

“Heh. Yeah,” he murmured, letting his fingers rest on Sitka’s skull for a few seconds before his hand fell back to his side. He looked at Sans again. “I know she appreciates that. Having a napping buddy.”

Sans didn’t reply, but tilted his head to the other side. Wingdings knew him well enough to tell when he was asking a question without words.

He shrugged, his smile changing, but not slipping away.

“I don’t think she’d be as happy to sleep during the day if she didn’t have someone with her. She never wants to be away from the action for long.”

“just like her mom,” Sans muttered, probably more to himself than to Wingdings. There was an almost painful amount of fondness in his voice, and Wingdings found himself wondering how someone so relatively small could hold as much love as Sans did for two separate people.

He hesitated, rubbed his teeth together, then finally opened his mouth to speak.

“She’s a lot like you, too, though. Alphys told me she keeps asking her about the stars.”

This time it was Sans who huffed a laugh. This was more genuine, though, quiet but filled with all the amusement and care that Wingdings would expect of such a proud uncle.

“yeah, she asks me that stuff, too,” he said, staring off to the side, his smile twitching up at the corners. “alphys gives more details, though. more kid-friendly, too. apparently my explanations are a little too technical for a two-year-old.”

“Mine too,” Wingdings replied, feeling his own smile curl up, too. He paused again, looking down at Sitka, taking a second to appreciate the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Feeling his whole face soften with every breath. Then he looked back to Sans. “She loves you, though. That’s obvious. You’re … you’re a great uncle.”

He knew it didn’t mean much, coming from him, and Sans definitely knew it, too. But Wingdings swore he saw something like pleased embarrassment flash across his face, even though it was gone a second later, forced aside by a much-too-casual shrug.

“i do what i can and hope that’ll be enough.”

“It is,” Wingdings said, without hesitating, without even thinking, because he didn’t need to. It was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s always been enough.”

The words came out slightly more desperate than he had intended, and he worried that they sounded fake. He waited for Sans’s response, but Sans just stared back at him, an expression on his face that Wingdings had never figured out how to read.

It was nearly a minute later that Sans let out a soft, slow breath, chuckling as he shook his head.

“you know, i’ve been betting with myself on how long it’ll take you to stop throwing in random apologies into daily conversations. i keep winning. and losing, too, i guess.”

“It’s not an apology,” Wingdings found himself saying, only realizing once the words were out of his mouth how they might sound. He winced. “Or, well … I guess it is. But it’s true. That’s why I’m saying it.”

He hesitated, sorting through his thoughts and trying to form them into something that made sense. Sans waited, patient as always, hands stuffed in his pockets and head tilted to the side.

Wingdings grit his teeth and rested a careful hand on Sitka’s side.

“I know I can never make up for lost time, or … everything else. But … at least I can say what I should have back then.”

He honestly wasn’t sure what sort of response he was expecting. Sans had never demanded that he get on his knees and beg for forgiveness—even though Wingdings would have gladly done so a thousand times over. He had never even asked for an apology. Maybe because Wingdings had kept giving them, no matter how much time passed, never letting a month go by without some sort of apology slipped in.

But no matter how many times he apologized, Sans never seemed all that moved. At first, Wingdings had thought that he needed to make better apologies, or maybe that even trying to apologize was offensive after all he had done. Like he thought he deserved to be forgiven.

After the first year, though, Wingdings realized that the look Sans gave him every time he said he was sorry wasn’t angry. He didn’t know what it was—even now, five years later, he couldn’t manage to read it—but whatever it was, there was no anger in it.

But Wingdings didn’t know what to do other than apologize, so he kept at it anyway.

And sure enough, just like before, Sans gave him a long, considering look, like he was reading a part of Wingdings even he wasn’t aware of. Then he shrugged again, brushing it all off with a nonchalance that was almost scary.

“well, i guess it’s up to you. your life.”

Wingdings felt his teeth grit again, frustration building up inside him. Not at Sans. Not even at himself. He swallowed and shook his head, feeling his browbone furrow.

“It’s not just my life, though,” he pressed, like Sans might actually understand, for the first time since all their memories had rushed back. “I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

Sans raised half his browbone, straightening up a little, like Wingdings had said something funny.

“you do realize you’d still be alive, and a hell of a lot older, if not for me?”

Wingdings gritted his teeth harder, huffing out a breath through his nasal cavity before shaking his head.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he insisted, a little too loud, and he flinched when Sitka mumbled and shifted in his lap. He paused, staring down at her, frozen. But a second later, she settled down again, and he rubbed his thumb over her side before letting out a breath and turning to Sans again. “I mean, maybe I’d be alive, but … not really.”

Sans watched him, patient as ever, waiting for him to go on. Part of Wingdings wished he would butt in, say something, but another part of him was glad he got the chance to express this.

He would never be able to express it enough.

“I’d already destroyed my life when … when I fell. Even if I was still alive, I’d be locked up, or … or even if I was free, even if what I did actually  _worked,_ I would have destroyed the lives of two innocent kids to do it.”

Sans tilted his head to the other side, face blank with only a hint of curiosity. “you thought it was worth it, then.”

Wingdings winced, but there was still no anger in Sans’s voice. And no matter how much he wanted to look away, he wouldn’t let himself. After all he had done, the least he could do was look his victim in the eye.

So he held his head high, pressed his teeth together, and nodded.

“Yeah. I did,” he said, simply, but hopefully without any less emotion. He held himself like that for a few seconds before he finally broke and looked down again, eye locked on a random spot on the porch. “I remember feeling that way. I remember making the choice. But … it feels like someone else made it. Someone who’s just like me but … also someone completely different.”

He could feel Sans looking at him, and wished, not for the first time, that he could get inside his head. But he had never been able to do that. Not even in the early days, when Sans was first out of the tube. Both of them—both of the boys—both of his … sons … had always been such a mystery to him.

Even now, when he was genuinely trying to understand them.

“I meant what I said. When … when I first remembered. I’m glad that person died,” he went on, forcing himself to lift his head, to meet Sans’s eyes, to hold strong even though he felt anything but. “He’d already given up his life by then. I don’t think I deserved a second chance, but … you gave it to me. And I want to make the most of it.”

He tried to say it with conviction—as much conviction as he felt—and he thought it came out reasonably well. But of course, Sans’s expression didn’t change. He kept looking at him with those unreadable eyes—one good eye, one broken, because that was yet another thing Wingdings would never be able to fix.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity had passed, Sans hummed and shrugged, like they were talking about what color Toriel should repaint the living room walls rather than the most horrific abuse either of them could have imagined.

“like i said. it’s your life.”

Wingdings wanted to repeat what he had said before, and the words came right up to his teeth, ready to burst out on their own, but he stopped them. He knew repeating himself wouldn’t do any good. Sans had heard him the first time. It just … hadn’t made a difference.

So instead, he sat there, waiting, listening, like Sans had, and a few seconds later, Sans’s eyes shifted to the ground, his hands tucked a little deeper in his pockets, the thoughts rolling around so obviously in his skull that Wingdings swore he could hear them.

“but you know … he always told us that he didn’t have a choice in what he was doing. that he had to do it for other people,” he went on, his tone different, almost distant, like part of him was years in the past, back in that lab, throwing out one more quiet observation before he was left alone in the dark. “never really understood who those other people were, but he seemed so convinced that everything he did was for the greater good. even when it was making our life hell.”

Wingdings could feel himself tense up, frozen in place like he always did when reminded of those days. It took him to a few seconds to realize what pronouns Sans was using—he was never going to get used to hearing “he” when he should have been hearing “you.”

If Sans noticed Wingdings’s swirling emotions, he didn’t say anything. Just shrugged at his own thoughts, like he had decided it was never going to make sense and he would just have to accept it.

“and he probably enjoyed it sometimes. never answered that one for sure, but it wasn’t hard to see.”

Wingdings swallowed, but still didn’t move or speak. It was Sans’s right to say these things, and it was his job to listen. It was the least he could do after … well. It was the least he could do.

But there was still no anger in Sans’s eyes. None of that sharp, burning desire to push as much guilt on Wingdings as he could—guilt Wingdings knew he rightly deserved. That desire had been there in the early days, even if it was rarely acted on, but recently … even in the past few years … when was the last time he had seen it?

Sans let out another quiet breath, almost a sigh, and Wingdings shook himself out of his thoughts before he could fall any deeper.

“but even when he enjoyed it, he always used that as his excuse. that he was doing this, ruining our lives, ruining his own, for everyone else.”

Wingdings felt his browbone furrow. Yes, there was no anger in Sans’s voice. But there was something else. Something he didn’t have a name for. That happened a lot with Sans, but even if he didn’t have a name for it, he could usually recognize it.

Not this time. This was … new.

“sometimes i wonder if he would have made the same choice if he’d spent more time thinking about himself,” Sans went on, and again, Wingdings forced his own thoughts aside, even though he could feel them buzzing in the back of his head. Sans looked at him, and Wingdings found himself frozen in place, his whole body stiff, his expression clenched, though Sans’s was soft. “sounds counterintuitive, and i know it’s not that simple. you can’t just go through life only thinking about yourself, and if he’d spent a few seconds thinking about _us,_ how _we_ felt, maybe he wouldn’t’ve done it either. but apparently just living for other people didn’t work for him either.” 

For a few seconds, they looked at each other, and Wingdings wondered whether Sans was looking at him—as he was now—or the old him. The him that no longer existed. The him that Wingdings remembered, in a distant yet intimate way.

The him that felt like a stranger, but also painfully familiar.

But Sans couldn’t have been looking at him. Because Wingdings remembered every look Sans had given that other him, and none of those looks had ever been like this.

“sometimes you spend so much time wanting to make other people happy that you wreck things for yourself. then you don’t realize you’re hurting people in the process, and end up wrecking things for people you love, too, even when you think you’re helping.”

Wingdings blinked. Sans’s smile shifted, twitching into something more genuine. Something that looked older and wiser than Wingdings had ever been, even when he looked and felt like someone centuries old.

“so maybe you should try things different this time around. maybe try doing things you like, just ‘cause you like them. maybe live like your life matters, and that can help remind you how much everyone else matters, too,” Sans finished, and Wingdings felt something soft and warm spreading through his chest. He didn’t know what it was, but he swore he could feel part of the cracks in his soul knitting back together. Just a bit. Just one tiny fragment. But it was something. It was more than he would ever deserve. “that’s what papyrus is always telling me to do. i’m not saying it’s easy, but … i do think it’s probably worth it.”

Wingdings swallowed, almost choking on the warmth growing in his chest. He cleared his throat, as quietly as he could to avoid disturbing Sitka. He shifted his hand over her, moved his teeth without quite grinding them. He cleared his throat again.

“… Yeah. Papyrus has a lot of good ideas.”

The best ideas.

Ideas he should have listened to a long, long time ago.

If he had known Papyrus in his early life … back in the war … if that hadn’t been a paradox, if Papyrus had been just another skeleton living at the same time as he did … would things have been different?

Would Papyrus have survived even one day in the war, refusing to fight but never afraid to defend?

He shook his head before any of the images could settle in.

“I didn’t think you would ever forgive me,” he said, and regretted it as soon as it was out in the open. But … it was true, and wasn’t honesty supposed to be a good thing? Better than lying. Better than trying to claim it didn’t affect him. He swallowed again. “I didn’t … I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“i haven’t.”

It was so quick, so unhesitant, so … matter-of-fact that it took Wingdings a few seconds to register the words. His head shot up further, good eye wide, teeth barely parted, his gaze locked on Sans as Sans continued to look back at him, as casual as ever.

Wingdings wanted to ask … something, but he wasn’t sure what. Wasn’t sure how to put it into words.

But he only had to wait a few more seconds before Sans went on, just as plainly as before.

“i haven’t forgiven the person who did this to me and my bro. i tried. papyrus always says i should keep trying, that it would make me feel better, that it’s more about not letting anger make me miserable than anything else, but … i can’t. at this point, i don’t think i ever will. i’ll go on with my life, i’ll put all of that behind me, as much as i can, but … i don’t think i’ll ever forgive him.”

Wingdings knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Shouldn’t have been disappointed. He knew, when the warm feeling vanished from his chest, that he more than deserved it. But it still felt cold and heavy, like someone dropping ice directly onto his soul.

But before it could settle, before it could seep into him, making itself a part of him as much as the magic in his bones … he paused.

The words ran through his head again.

Wingdings frowned.

“Him?”

Sans, of course, didn’t look confused or surprised. He didn’t even blink. He watched Wingdings as if he could see every part of him, more than Wingdings would be able to see if he spent the rest of his life staring into a mirror.

“mm-hmm. the person who did this,” Sans replied, like it should have been obvious, even though he clearly knew it wasn’t. He didn’t make any sort of gesture at “this,” but Wingdings still felt his eyes flick over his bones. All the places he had chipped away. Broken. Shot with a laser.

His broken eye.

His right hand, still tucked in his pocket, and the plate still drilled into it.

Sans tilted his head. “but if we’re talking about you … there was never anything to forgive.”

It was like he had dropped a boulder on Wingdings’s head.

The weight of it hit all at once, crushing him, smashing his skull into pieces, like Sans’s skull had been broken when the power surged all those years ago, his HP dropping, fading, teetering over the edge of death—

But Wingdings wasn’t dead. He wasn’t hurt.

He breathed, and he blinked, and Sans was there, watching him, just as he had done for the past five years.

Wingdings opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, open and close, three more times before he finally managed to speak.

“But I … we’re both … we’re the same …”

The words caught in his throat, just for a second. But it was long enough for Sans to shake his head.

“no, you’re not.”

And then the words were gone. Flown out of his body like air forced out of his chest. And he was looking at Sans, watching, waiting, an empty shell, hoping that something would come to fill it up.

“you’ve got the same genes. you’ve got his memories. for nine years, you lived the same life,” Sans went on, as plainly as before. “but it splits off from there. you’re not the same person anymore. because you could never do any of the same stuff that he did. i’m pretty damn sure of that now. you’d sooner die than hurt anyone at this point. you’re … a lot like my bro, actually.”

He looked away then, and Wingdings could see the old pain that bubbled up at saying something like that. He remembered the comparisons Sans had made between himself and Wingdings in the lab, how he had viewed it as something to be ashamed of. For him to even suggest that he had anything in common with the person he loved most in the world …

Sans forced his eyes back up and shook his head.

“your lives since they split off are completely different. and maybe nurture isn’t everything, but it sure counts for something. and i think there’s enough of a difference to make you count as your own person.”

He paused then, staring at Wingdings like he might actually give a response. Like there was anything he could say to that. Like he hadn’t been struck silent from the first word.

Or maybe he had known Wingdings wouldn’t have a reply for that, and he just wanted to make sure his words weren’t falling on empty air.

“you’re already making different choices. you just have to … keep doing that,” Sans finished, tilting his head and staring at Wingdings like he was looking at a brand new person. Someone without years of violent history. Someone who hadn’t ruined his childhood. Someone who had hope to be better, who could help people, like he had always wanted to. “as long as you do … then whether or not i forgive the guy who made my life hell has nothing to do with you.”

Wingdings swallowed hard, but the tears in his throat still bubbled up into his good socket, a few of them spilling over the edge. He wiped them away before they could fall on Sitka’s head, staring down at her, taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t completely break down.

Then he took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, meeting Sans’s eyes and feeling his mouth twitch up at the corners. He didn’t know if he could call it a smile when it felt so broken, so sad, so … painfully hopeful, but it was the closest word he had.

“Thank you, Sans.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but in the silence of the backyard, it felt like shattering glass. Sans shrugged with one shoulder, humming in what might have been dismissal, if not for the flash of warmth that glowed in his eyes.

“eh. don’t think there’s anything to thank, but i’ll take it,” he muttered, finally stepping forward and flopping down in the free chair to Wingdings’s left. Then he paused, looking at him for a long moment before giving a small, slow nod. “you’re welcome.”

And that was it. Wingdings searched for something else to say, there had to be something else he was supposed to say to that, right? But even as he racked his head for words, Sans settled into the chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He wasn’t asleep—probably, sometimes it was hard to tell—but it was as clear an end to the conversation as anything else.

If he hadn’t known Sans so well, he might have taken it badly. But there wasn’t a person in this house who hadn’t been cut off by Sans taking a nap, so he supposed it was almost welcome.

Besides … the silence was nice, and they had already said a lot. Maybe anything else would just be a waste of breath.

So for the first time in … he didn’t know how long, Wingdings let himself settle down, too. He let the chair support his weight, and the weight of the little girl resting in his lap. He let himself feel like he actually belonged here, even though he knew part of him still wouldn’t believe it. He felt the presence of the skeleton who might have been his son and the girl who might have been his granddaughter, and he let it soothe the thoughts rushing around in his head.

Maybe he didn’t deserve this. Maybe he never would.

But he had it now. The least he could do was make the most of it.

His breath slowed. His limbs relaxed. His good eye slipped half-closed, and for a few quiet moments, he thought he might slip into a nap, too.

Then the backdoor swung open, and it took all Wingdings had not to fall out of his seat.

But again, Sitka’s weight on his legs reminded him to keep still, and he turned his head just to time to see Sans tipping forward out of his own chair, clattering into a stunned, sleepy mess on the porch, while Papyrus stood in the doorway, staring at them with something between surprise, frustration, and delight.

“THERE YOU ARE!” he said, his voice just as loud as it always was, even as his eyes flicked down to Sitka, resting in Wingdings’s lap. He put his hands on his hips and stepped out enough to let the door swing shut behind him. “I HAVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!”

Sans tried to pick himself up on the ground, blinking and groaning and he climbed of his half-sleeping state. Wingdings gave Papyrus another sheepish smile that probably looked as guilty as he felt.

“Sorry, Papyrus. I came outside to play with her and she just … fell asleep.”

But even as the words came out of his mouth, Papyrus’s expression had already softened, his mouth curled into a smile as he looked back and forth between Wingdings and his little girl.

“NO APOLOGIES NEEDED! I AM JUST GLAD SHE IS GETTING A NAP IN. SHE DISLIKES SLEEPING AS MUCH AS I DO SOMETIMES, BUT SHE SEEMS TO FEEL SO MUCH BETTER WHEN SHE DOES.”

Wingdings felt his own shoulders drop as relief spread through him, and he followed Papyrus’s gaze back down to his lap. He still didn’t understand how Sitka could sleep through the shouting without even a twitch—even more deeply than Sans—but he supposed that was one of the side effects of growing up with Papyrus for a mom.

Then again, considering she could give him a run for his money in terms of volume … maybe that had something to do with it, too.

Wingdings looked back up in time to see Sans pulling himself into the chair, still looking startled but ultimately resigned to being shaken out of his nap for what must have been the thousandth time. Papyrus watched him with irritation and maybe a bit of guilt. As much as he ranted on about how much Sans slept, Wingdings knew he didn’t really mind it, and was much more concerned when Sans didn’t sleep enough then when he fell asleep at odd times and places.

“Do you want me to move so you can take her?” Wingdings asked, still keeping his own voice down, because even if Sitka could sleep through her mom’s shouts, that didn’t mean she could sleep through everyone else’s.

Papyrus turned to him, blinking before his eyes flicked to his daughter. Up to Wingdings. Back to his daughter.

His entire face went lax, his eyes warm and filled with more love than one person should have been able to hold. He shook his head.

“SHE LOOKS VERY COMFORTABLE WITH YOU. AS LONG AS YOU DON’T MIND HER USING YOU AS A BED.”

Wingdings felt his mouth twitch up at the corners. “No. No, I don’t mind at all.”

It felt like more of a favor to him—for Papyrus to trust him to look after his daughter, after … after everything, even if it wasn’t the same him—but Papyrus smiled like it was Wingdings who had done something extraordinarily kind. Wingdings would probably never be able to understand that. He had realized, over the years, that there was no point trying.

“I AM GLAD SHE HAS YOU. BOTH OF YOU,” Papyrus said, glancing over at Sans just as he closed his eyes again, settling into his chair like he hadn’t been scared out of it a minute before. Papyrus’s expression softened even further, his eyes almost painfully warm. “I DON’T THINK BEING A MOM WOULD BE THIS EASY WITHOUT ALL OF YOU TO HELP TAKE CARE OF HER.”

The weight of his words hung in the air like steam, heating them up and catching them somewhere between comfortable and incredibly awkward. Sans cleared his throat and stared at the ground, shrugging like there wasn’t a blush growing on his cheekbones.

“eh, she’s not exactly a hard kid to like, bro. all i have to do is lift her up with blue magic and that makes her day.”

Pushing back his own impulse to just stare at the ground and wait for the embarrassment to subside, Wingdings looked up, met Papyrus’s eyes, and smiled.

“She’s wonderful, Papyrus. You’ve done … you’ve done a really great job.”

He didn’t think that meant much, coming from him, and he was tempted to take it back, even apologize for daring to say something like that. But Papyrus was already beaming, his face flushed orange with sheer joy, and Wingdings couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.

Papyrus walked around them and flopped down in the last empty chair, on the other side of Wingdings, staring down at his daughter with such fondness in his eyes that it almost hurt to look at. He still looked so innocent, so young, just like he had looked when he was fresh out of the tube. But there was experience behind it now: a lot of bad, but also a lot of good. Love that stayed just as strong no matter what he went through. Affection, softness, and dedication to give his child the best life he could.

Then he looked up, looked at Wingdings, eyes burning into him, intense yet soft. It was different than the way he looked at Sitka. But the love was still there. Different, and never quite as strong, but very much there.

And it struck Wingdings, for the first time, that maybe Papyrus was a little bit of a mom to him, too.

He … decided not to think about how that would look on a family tree.

But then again, none of his family now fit on a regular tree. He could imagine trying, making one of the family trees Frisk had done for an assignment when they finished elementary school. It had been complicated enough for them, with Toriel as their legal adoptive mother and everyone else filling spots that didn’t have an official name. For Wingdings … he could remember his birth family. He remembered them as well as he might have if it had really only been five years since he had seen them. But his birth family had never been like the family he had now. His parents and his siblings had never thrown huge, albeit kind of weird celebrations for his birthday. His parents and siblings had never held him after a nightmare or read him a story before bed. He still missed them tremendously and mourned their loss, but his old family had never felt like … a family.

Funny, that he hadn’t known that this was what a family was meant to be like until now.

And even though there were no official titles, he could still see where each member might fit. He could see Toriel stretched across three different spots: mother, aunt, and grandmother, melding all three together as naturally as anything she did. Asgore had become a friend more than a father figure in his old life, but now he was something close to a grandfather. Maybe an uncle. Alphys and Undyne fit the role of aunts perfectly. The science aunt who could talk with him for hours, and the loud aunt who insisted on regular “bonding time” even when they had almost nothing in common. Frisk was a sibling just as much as a friend, and even though he knew he was technically centuries older than they were, he was pretty sure they viewed him as their little brother.

Sans … he was his son. He knew that, deep down, and that fact would never change. But just like Papyrus, Sans would also never be his son in the real sense. He had never been a father to him, and at this point, he never would be.

If he was being honest … if Papyrus was like his mom, Sans was a little like his uncle.

Or … maybe even a brother. A weird, distant older brother, who may not talk to him much, but … apparently didn’t think so badly of him. A brother who was willing to look past what he had been in another future—or past. A brother who, when he did talk to him, passed on wisdom he had done nothing to deserve. Wisdom he would have easily brushed off in his old life, but which he could now already feel seeping into him, changing something deep in his mind, further separating him from the person he had been before.

That person would always be there, part of him, a lingering memory that remained no matter how much time passed. Those mistakes would always stick with him, haunting him in the stillness, in the quiet, in the dark.

But … even if that person was still there, still a part of him … maybe that didn’t have to be who he was.

“WINGDINGS?”

Wingdings blinked, and realized he was staring at Papyrus, probably with a very odd expression on his face. Papyrus was frowning, head tilted in concern, leaning in closer, like he might be able to figure out the problem if he just looked hard enough.

“Hm? Yes?” Wingdings asked, trying to force his face back into something halfway normal.

Papyrus frowned a little deeper, his eyes so soft, so caring.

So infinitely forgiving.

“ARE YOU OKAY?”

And this time, Wingdings found he didn’t have to force anything. He didn’t have to lie, or even twist the truth. He found himself smiling, just a small smile, but as genuine as it had ever been.

“Yeah, Papyrus. I am.”

And just like that, the concern slipped away, falling from Papyrus’s face as easily as water down a drain. And he smiled back, sitting up a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter.

“GOOD,” he said, more quiet than usual, but somehow sounding just as much like himself. “I AM, TOO.”

Wingdings felt his own smile twitch up further. “I’m glad.”

Papyrus grinned even wider.

“i’m good, too, if anyone wants to know.”

Both of them turned toward Sans, whose eyes were still closed, though his attention was clearly locked on them. His voice dripped with the sarcastic humor that assured them it was just a joke, but Wingdings couldn’t help but focus on the words. Even if they were just a joke. Even if Sans expected them to brush it off.

Wingdings could feel Papyrus getting ready to respond, probably with something both chastising and reassuring, but found his own mouth opening first.

“I’m glad, Sans,” he said, with more conviction than even he had intended, pushing all his feelings out into a few quiet words. “Really.”

Sans peeked one eye open, staring at him with an unreadable expression for a long few seconds.

Then his mouth twitched up, and his eye fell shut once again.

“yeah, kid. i know.”

And Wingdings knew that he meant it.

A knot in his chest loosened, bit by bit, until it finally slipped away into nothing, and he let it all out in a quiet breath.

This life would never be perfect. Even if he truly had a fresh start—and no matter what Sans said, he knew never really would—the world was still broken, and himself just as much.

But maybe broken was okay, when you could be broken with other people. When you could share your brokenness, help each other through it, and maybe … get a little better.

Maybe, when he looked back years down the road, he would be a little less broken than he was now. Maybe all of them would be.

Maybe that would be enough.

Wingdings looked at the door, where he could make out the sounds of the others bustling around inside, getting ready for dinner. Looked at Papyrus, resting in his chair, staring down at his daughter with pure love in his eyes. Looked at Sans, already drifting back into his afternoon nap, his smile just wide enough to be genuine. Looked at Sitka, a piece of perfection in a broken world.

Looked at his family.

More than he would ever deserve, but always cherished.

His mouth curled up at the corners, and he leaned his head back, letting his gaze fall just below the glowing warmth of the sun.

Yes, he decided. This would be enough.

This was all he would ever need.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: Papyrus adopting the title of “mom” is not meant to devalue fathers IN THE LEAST, or imply that fathers are less nurturing, kind, loving, or anything else. It’s just as the story describes: the closest to a parental figure that Papyrus has spent much time around is Toriel, who is a mom. Also, I’m going by the line in one of the neutral endings in the game where Papyrus said he wanted to be a “great mom” to any further fallen humans. I also just feel like the title suits him better, regardless of his gender identity.


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